


Like a Live Wire, Like Sparks in the Night

by bigbabyjeno



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romantic Comedy, That's it that's the plot, sort of???, wedding planner yuta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbabyjeno/pseuds/bigbabyjeno
Summary: A Yuta-centric au in which Yuta is Taeyong's best man and the designated wedding planner for Taeyong and Jaehyun's wedding. Yuta is obsessed with love and romance (and his very nice color coded binder with the matching dividers and expensive colored pens) and heusedto be obsessed with Sicheng, Jaehyun’s best man who, despite being dragged along to help, really doesn't care about planning a wedding. Which is infuriating to Yuta, even more so given Sicheng's enigmatic personality and their tangled history.





	Like a Live Wire, Like Sparks in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, to whoever sent in this prompt, you are a genius and I really, really hope that I've done your incredible prompt justice in some way, shape, or form. I'm sorry that I didn't hit all of the bonus points, but I tried to hit as many of them as I could! This was so much fun to plan out and write, and I really hope you enjoy it!!

Yuta tips his head back onto the shoulder behind him and grinds back purposefully, hips rolling to the beat of the music. His eyes are closed, but he can see the glow of the flickering lights through his eyelids, vibrant blue, then red, then yellow as they sweep across the dance floor, illuminating sweaty faces and reflecting off body glitter and glasses of liquor clutched tight in raised hands, contents sloshing dangerously close to the brim. The music is thrumming through his veins, vibrating against his solar plexus, and there’s a large, warm hand pressed flat against his stomach, pinning him back against a broad chest and spreading curling tendrils of anticipation and lust down his limbs.

They’ve been dancing for a while, bodies pressed flush, lips dragging against skin and fingers riding dangerously close to waistbands, and Yuta is thinking about turning around and suggesting they get out of there when he realizes that the music is not the only thing buzzing through him. With no intention of answering, he wiggles his phone out of his pocket, body still swaying with the music, and inspects the screen just as the call goes to voicemail. Yuta frowns. Seven missed calls, all from the same number. Something like concern starts to bubble up in his stomach, set his pulse racing, but before he can decide what to do, his phone starts to ring again. The eighth call in the last ten minutes.

Regret feels bitter on Yuta’s tongue as he tugs himself out of Mr. Broad and Handsome’s grip - Yukhei, he thinks - and waves the phone at him in explanation, mouthing ‘emergency’ before shoving his way through the press of bodies and out the club doors. He shivers as the cool summer air hits his sweaty skin and presses ‘answer’.

“Hello? Taeyongie? Is everything okay?”

“Yuta,” Taeyong breathes, relief evident in his voice. There’s something else there, too, just beneath the fading panic, but Yuta’s vodka-slow brain can’t place it. “Where are you? I’ve been calling you -”

“Taeyong,” Yuta interrupts, his heart still beating double-time. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Nothing, no -” Yuta feels a spike of irritation as he thinks about the very tall, very sexy man he’s just abandoned on the dance floor, but then Taeyong says, “Well, yes, actually. I can’t believe it, I haven’t stopped shaking.” There’s a short burst of static down the line as Taeyong lets out a laugh, and then he’s saying, words tumbling out of his mouth like he can’t speak them fast enough, “Yuta, Jaehyun asked me to marry him. He - we’re getting  _ married _ .”

Yuta’s eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, all traces of annoyance and worry vanishing in an instant. “Are you serious?” he shouts, ignoring the looks he gets from passers-by. “Where are you? I’m coming over. Tell me everything,” he demands, starting off in the direction of his flat. He should probably wash the stench of sweat and alcohol out of his hair and change out of his mesh shirt first.

“I’m outside your place,” Taeyong laughs. “Jaehyun had to go in to the office, something about a last minute arraignment, I don’t know, and I didn’t want to wait alone.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Yuta promises, picking up the pace despite the weight of his heavy combat boots. He winces as his right boot digs uncomfortably into the back of his heel, but he doesn’t slow down. Yuta goes to hang up, then stops, brings the phone back up to his ear. “Hey, Taeyongie.” Taeyong responds with a hum, the small sound so happy that it makes Yuta’s heart twist in his chest. His voice is barely more than a whisper, all he could force out around the joy clogging his throat. “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.”

◎

Yuta stares down at the manuscript in front of him, fingers frozen at the corners of the pages and eyes unfocused. He has two meetings later in the afternoon - one with his editor to discuss the changes to the manuscript, and one with Taeyong and Jaehyun. Well, that one is less of a meeting and more of a sake and sushi dinner date.

Of the two meetings, the one with his editor is arguably more important, but he can’t for the life of him muster up the energy and attention needed to go over his notes and changes and prepare for the meeting. Instead, his eyes keep wandering to his phone, sitting silent at the corner of his desk. If he taps the home button and unlocks it, the screen will open to his text conversation with Taeyong, the last of which says, “Remember that house party you threw when we graduated from university?”

He thinks he knows where Taeyong is going with this, and it has excitement bubbling in his chest. He’s not going to assume, though. He’s going to tonight’s dinner with no expectations. It’s just a simple celebratory dinner with his best friends. It’s been five days since Taeyong called him and waited outside his apartment, and he hasn’t seen him since. Between Taeyong’s schedule at the vet clinic and an upcoming court date Jaehyun has been preparing for, they haven’t had time to properly celebrate, but they’ve all finally managed to coordinate time off and have planned accordingly.

Sighing, Yuta shoves his manuscript aside and pushes back from his desk. He needs coffee and some fresh air. His fingers itch for his phone, but he purposely leaves it behind as he strolls into the kitchen and makes a beeline for the coffee pot. He’s going to drink a mug of coffee on the balcony, then he is going to review the changes he’s made and make a list of notes for his editor. Only then will he allow himself to ponder Taeyong’s text and start to think of the possibilities. 

“It’s a deal,” he says aloud, smashing the brew button with a little too much enthusiasm. The coffee maker gurgles to life, filling the kitchen with the heady scent of roasted coffee beans. Satisfied, Yuta sucks in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. It’s a deal.

Yuta leaves the editor’s meeting immensely proud of himself. Once he puts his mind to something, he can accomplish it with impressive focus. He had put Taeyong’s wedding out of his mind and managed to hold a successful meeting that left his editor very happy. There will be a new round of changes to be made, but the revised manuscript needs to go through the editorial team first, so Yuta has time. Then there will be meetings with marketing and advertising, a discussion with the artist designing the cover, rounds of revision and approvals and general headaches. But for now, he has time to focus. 

And so, as a reward, he makes a pit stop at an office supply store and splurges on an enormous, gorgeous three ring binder. The sticker on the spine boasts that it’s constructed from recycled materials and is extra durable. The cover of the binder is thick and solid and covered in something that feels like canvas under Yuta’s fingers, dyed a pale green and decorated in a print that looks like hand-doodled birds in various pastel colors, each one expressive and unique. There is a pocket on each inside cover and there are six dividers, each of the tabs dyed to match the birds on the cover. Yuta loves the binder. He can’t wait to show Taeyong the binder. 

In addition to the binder, Yuta buys two packs of lined paper to put in it and a new array of pens for color coordinating his notes, then he sets the bag carefully on the passenger seat of his car and drives to the sushi restaurant. Once he’s arrived, though, he leaves the bag in the car, just in case. He’ll show Taeyong the binder once he’s confirmed his suspicions, knowing that Taeyong’s fastidious, organized mind will appreciate it. 

The restaurant is packed with business men and women just off work and the occasional family out for a nice sushi dinner. Yuta finds Taeyong and Jaehyun amongst the sea of suits and ties, tucked into a booth in the corner. They’re sitting on the same side of the table, Jaehyun’s arm around Taeyong and their heads tipped together as they whisper about something, and the sight makes Yuta’s heart flutter. He’s known Taeyong for eight years, Jaehyun for four of those years, and he’s never seen Taeyong as happy as he is when Jaehyun is around. 

It’s not until he rounds the corner from the host booth that he spots a familiar head of auburn hair seated across from Taeyong and Jaehyun. Yuta’s stomach drops. Great.

Not slowing his pace, Yuta pastes on a false bright smile as he approaches and as soon as Taeyong spots him, he offers him a huge, open-mouthed smile - genuine this time - and swoops in for hugs from both Taeyong and Jaehyun. The smile slips a little as he turns to address the third person at the table, he can’t help it.

“Sicheng,” he says politely, if a bit cold. “Nice to see you again.”

They both know he doesn’t mean it. 

Once upon a time, he would have. When Taeyong and Jaehyun had gotten serious, right at the end of their final year of university, they tried to merge their two friend groups. It had gone well at first, Yuta good at pretending to like everyone and Jaehyun’s friends mostly as affable as he is. Sicheng wasn’t, but that was okay - Yuta was a little bit in love with him anyway and Sicheng tolerated his clinginess, and the first time Jaehyun and Taeyong hosted a joint New Years party, they got tipsy on champagne and Sicheng sucked him off in the laundry room just before midnight while the party raged on just outside the door of their little safe haven.

Then his grandmother got sick and he left for China and Yuta met Doyoung, and when Sicheng came back months later, everything was uncomfortable, and Jaehyun made a concerted effort to hang out with them separately, even after Yuta and Doyoung broke up. He never said anything, but Yuta isn’t stupid. The few times they've been together since, Sicheng has been passive and a little cold, and that’s fine with Yuta.

Well, it kind of isn’t, Sicheng is still gorgeous and mysterious and Yuta can’t stand it when someone doesn’t like him, but it’s whatever. He’s fine. He’s totally fine, and he can handle being at dinner with Sicheng every once in a while, even if Sicheng barely speaks, even when Sicheng stares silently at the side of his face, expression impassive and probably judgmental, Yuta’s not sure, he was never very good at reading him. Whatever.

Yuta sits down, a careful six inches from Sicheng on the small bench, and turns his beaming smile on Taeyong and Jaehyun. He’s here to celebrate his best friend’s engagement and he’s going to have fun, dammit. He’s already heard the story (three times), but he asks anyway, “So, tell me how it happened.”

Taeyong’s face lights up and he and Jaehyun both lean forward to tell the story together. 

“So, Jaehyun told me he was going to be working late on a case and that I should order delivery from our favorite chicken restaurant...”

“The first time I met Jaehyun,” Yuta giggles, “I was sitting on the couch in smelly gym shorts and socks, unshowered, watching Naruto. Taeyong didn’t  _ warn _ me he was coming over -“

“I did!” Taeyong laughs, shoving at Yuta from across the table. He’s the only truly sober one of the group, his glass of sake still sitting untouched by his plate. “You just forgot your phone in your gym bag and didn’t see the text until after we left!”

“No warning,” Yuta insists.

Taeyong counters, “Irresponsible phone ownership.”

“It’s not a  _ baby _ ,” Yuta giggles again, sipping at another glass of plum sake. He hates plum sake, but at this current moment, it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. He levels a look at Taeyong, then Jaehyun. “Are you telling me you’ve never forgotten your phone somewhere? S - Sicheng?”

He turns to look at the man next to him, finds Sicheng sitting with his chin cupped in his hand, watching them with a blurry, amused expression on his face. It’s the most open Yuta has ever seen him, aside from the time he had Yuta’s dick in his mouth, and it’s. Disarming. 

“On a bus,” Sicheng confirms, and Yuta pumps a fist in victory. 

“See? That’s much worse than in my own gym bag. Anyway, the first time I met Jaehyun, he saw me shirtless right after the gym and he still chose Taeyong and his toothpick arms.” Yuta leans across the table to pinch Taeyong’s bicep and Taeyong doesn’t dodge him, just smiles at him fondly and lets him do whatever he wants. “They only knew each other for a few days, but that was already true love, I guess.”

Sicheng snorts.

Frowning now, Yuta turns to Sicheng, asks, “What, you don’t believe in true love?”

Sake sloshes over the rim of the cup in Sicheng’s hand when he shrugs.

Yuta sucks in a long breath, preparing himself to lecture Sicheng on exactly why he  _ should _ believe in love, when Taeyong makes an exasperated noise and waves his hand in Yuta’s face. Confused by the diversion, Yuta drags his eyes from Sicheng’s blank gaze to Taeyong’s over-bright smile.

“Yuta,” Taeyong says softly, his smile genuine now that he has Yuta’s attention. “This is exactly why I - why  _ we _ ,” he corrects, smiling at Jaehyun before refocusing on Yuta, “wanted to ask you to help us plan our wedding.”

Yuta sucks in a sharp breath, all conflicts with Sicheng forgotten. This. This is exactly what he had been hoping for. He knocks his sake glass, now thankfully empty, over as he shoves himself out of the booth and around to throw himself at Taeyong and Jaehyun, trying his best to grab both of them into one sloppy hug. 

“I love you,” he mumbles into Taeyong’s hair, fingers clutching at the back of Jaehyun’s shirt. He can feel someone patting his back and another hand squeezing his shoulder as he declares, voice muffled but still audible, “You’re going to have the best wedding ever!”

◎

The timing really could not have worked out any better, Yuta thinks as he shoulders the balcony door open, coffee in one hand, laptop and binder in the other. The editing team at his agency has his manuscript, so he has a few weeks to focus solely on plans for the wedding before he needs to divide his attention again.

Settling down, Yuta kicks his feet up onto the railing so he can balance his laptop across his knees and the binder on his thighs. The first thing he does is make a list of all of the different categories he’ll need for his binder, sorted by vendor importance. Location is the top priority, of course, and he won’t be able to secure anything else until he knows what kind of space he’s working with. Band is the second most important, he notes, adding a small star next to the point on his list. Music makes the party. 

He spends a few minutes adding to the initial list and sorting them into categories for the tabs in his binder, then shifts his attention to finding venues. Already thinking ahead, he sends a quick message to both Taeyong and Jaehyun so that they can find a day to tour venues with him.

Yuta spends all morning and part of the afternoon out on his balcony in a planning stupor, steadily filling out page after page in his binder until he has neat lists for each category, covering a broad range of tastes so that Taeyong and Jaehyun will be able to have their pick. Pleased with his progress, Yuta flips his binder shut with a satisfying snap and gathers everything inside. He needs to charge his laptop and there’s not much more he can do without Taeyong and Jaehyun’s approval.

He’s also starving, he discovers as he sets his things down on the dining room table, coffee mug gone empty hours ago. Happy with the way his day has gone, Yuta hums as he busies himself making something to eat.

“I should have gone into party planning,” he muses aloud to himself, eyes on the mesmerizing swirl of noodles as he stirs the pot on the stove. He imagines himself like the wedding planners he’s seen in movies, dressed in neat suits, bustling around with headsets on and barking orders to a team of assistants. Amused, he tugs a noodle out to see if it’s ready. Maybe if he ever gets tired of writing novels. He does quite like the idea of the headset.

◎

As a writer, Yuta enjoys being able to set his own hours. He’s not a habitual late riser - sometimes he gets up early to work out, sometimes he sets early meetings to clear the rest of his day - but  _ this _ , alarm blaring at 6:30 on a Tuesday, is some form of torture, Yuta is sure of it.

He rolls over onto his face with a long, drawn-out groan, hand groping blindly for his phone so he can turn the offensive noise off. It takes far too long to find it, considering how empty his bedside table is, but once the alarm has been silenced, Yuta rolls back over to contemplate the ceiling through bleary eyes.

He won’t fall back asleep. He will not fall back asleep. He will  _ not _ -

Yuta’s phone rings and his eyes snap open, heart pounding in his throat.

“What the fuck,” he mutters hoarsely, holding his phone up to his face, and - oh. He hit snooze instead of off. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

With another groan, Yuta steels himself, teeth gritted, then rolls himself bodily out of bed for some morning push-ups. It’s not his usual routine, but he needs the burst of adrenaline if he’s going to be alert and cheery for today’s tours. He needs to be alert and cheery. He forces himself to do two reps of fifteen, then drags himself off to the shower to get ready for the day.

Barely an hour later, dried and dressed and feeling marginally more awake, Yuta jogs down the stairs to meet Taeyong and Jaehyun. Their car is already idling by the curb when Yuta slips out the lobby door, the passenger window open so Taeyong can beckon him over with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning,” Yuta chirps as he pulls the back door open and tosses his bag onto the seat. It’s only as he’s ducking into the car that he looks up, and he freezes, one leg in the car and one still out on the curb. “Oh.”

Without a word, Sicheng thrusts a disposable coffee cup at him, eyes unblinking as he waits for Yuta to take it.

Clearing his throat, Yuta climbs the rest of the way into the car and pulls the door shut. He takes a moment to collect himself while he buckles his seatbelt, then turns to face Sicheng. He only hesitates for a second before taking the cup from him, eyes on Sicheng’s face as he does. He hadn’t expected Sicheng to be here.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Yuta says, directing it toward the front of the car, assuming Taeyong and Jaehyun had brought it for him.

The seat in front of him creaks as Taeyong twists around to peek at him from around the headrest. “Sicheng brought it! He remembered everyone’s favorites, isn’t that amazing? It’s been so long since we’ve all been out together.”

Frowning a little, Yuta raises the cup to his mouth, takes a careful sip. Sure enough, it’s exactly how he likes his coffee - one spoon of sugar and a dash of vanilla cream. Confused, he turns to Sicheng again, offers him a slight bow and mutters, “Thank you for the coffee.”

Sicheng just nods awkwardly at him, the corners of his mouth pinched, like he’s not sure whether to smile or frown.

The car ride is awkward after that. Taeyong and Jaehyun try to make conversation with them, but it quickly peters out, leaving Taeyong to turn the radio on to fill the silence. Yuta sips his coffee quietly, shooting occasional, furtive glances at Sicheng from the corner of his eye. Once, he catches Sicheng watching him and nearly drops his coffee cup in his lap, hissing quiet curses as he struggles to steady his grip on the cup. He can feel his cheeks burning, can feel Sicheng’s eyes on him, so he tucks the cup carefully between his knees and busies himself with his binder, checking and rechecking lists he’s gone over thirty times already, just for a distraction and an excuse to keep his eyes off the infuriatingly enigmatic man beside him.

Their first stop is twenty minutes outside of the city, on a farm with extensive grounds and a pretty little pond ringed with maples. It’s just as beautiful as the photos he had seen online, and when Yuta steps out of the car, he sucks in a nice, deep breath, reveling in the fresh grassy smell of the country. He hears Jaehyun murmur an awed  _ wow _ as the rest of the group joins him, and it makes Yuta smile. That had been the exact reason he’d chosen to show them this place first.

The man in charge of scheduling events on the farm is standing over by the pond waiting for them, so Yuta leads them over, walking backwards so he can gauge Jaehyun and Taeyong’s reactions. “So, you’ll need to decide what kind of vibe you want for the wedding. I scheduled a lot of different kinds of places today, just so you can be sure. Are you taking pictures, or should I?”

Taeyong opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Sicheng says softly, “I’ll take pictures. You can focus on the place.”

Yuta stares at Sicheng, not sure what to make of this strange show he’s putting on this morning. He’s so focused on Sicheng’s face, Sicheng who is pointedly staring down at the ground, that Yuta trips over a tree root and nearly falls on his ass. Jaehyun lunges for him, catching him by the elbow and tugging him upright.

Mortified, Yuta spins around to walk forward, squeezes Jaehyun’s wrist and murmurs his thanks before turning his attention to where he’s going so it doesn’t happen again. Sicheng is actually being  _ nice _ for once, and it’s still throwing Yuta off. Go figure.

By the time they arrive by the pond, Yuta has called on his skills as a writer, has narrowed his mind to a singular focus. Turning away from where Sicheng is stood taking pictures, he greets the event coordinator with a bright smile and a respectful bow. They all take turns greeting him before he begins his schpiel, walking them around the portion of the grounds where they allow events to take place and showing them photos of what the area looks like during the different seasons.

The awe and excitement is palpable as they begin the slow walk back to the car. Yuta jots down the available dates in his binder and makes enthusiastic notes about how beautiful it is and Taeyong and Jaehyun’s reactions, just so he won’t forget when they’re trying to make the final decision. Jaehyun doesn’t stop talking about the trees and the pond and the ducks they had seen floating serenely on the surface of the water as they head back into the city, so Yuta makes note of that, too, wanting to be thorough.

They spend the rest of the day checking out a park, two party halls, a church, and a sprawling hanok, breaking only briefly for some lunch. By the time night falls, they are all exhausted, minds full to overflowing with wedding photos and staged receptions, the varying vibes each venue gave off, and potential dates. 

“I need a drink,” Yuta complains from the backseat, shoes off and a thumb working at the arch of his aching foot. 

“Meat,” Jaehyun says succinctly, weariness dragging at his voice, and Sicheng makes a noise of agreement. 

Yuta shoots him a covert glance, takes in the way he’s leaning against the inside of the door, body angled toward the center of the car and perfectly on display. Yuta kind of hates himself for just how much he wants to turn around and look his fill. Sicheng is entirely too gorgeous, sour attitude or not, and he’s grateful when they arrive at the restaurant and pile out of the car, drawn toward the building by the smell of grilling meat and the sound of laughter and conversation.

Yuta busies himself pouring glasses of soju while Jaehyun and Sicheng squabble over the grilling of the meat, so it takes him a while to make note of Taeyong’s preoccupation. It’s not until he’s carefully sliding soju glasses across the pitted surface of the table that he notices the way Taeyong’s gaze is lowered, hands fiddling with something in his lap.

“What is that?” he asks, curiosity peaking when the corners of Taeyong’s mouth pull down into a guilty frown.

He slides a piece of paper onto the table and Yuta recognizes it as the pamphlet from the farm with the pond. It’s creased and worn at the edges already, as if Taeyong has been worrying it between his fingers for hours.

“It was pretty,” he hedges, waiting for Taeyong so say something that might explain the weird tension in his shoulders.

Finally, after Jaehyun and Sicheng have caught on to whatever it is Yuta and Taeyong are trying to accomplish and have momentarily stopped their bickering to watch them, Taeyong asks, “You have more places for us to see, right?”

“Well, yes,” Yuta says, hesitant and unsure. “I made a long list. Better to have too many than too few and miss The One.” He puts emphasis on the words ‘the one’ with a comical wiggle of his eyebrows, trying to lighten the strange mood Taeyong is in. Then, with a worried frown of his own, he asks, “Was it too much for you? I know it was kind of overwhelming, I can scale it back and narrow down the list so we don’t have to see as many -”

But Taeyong starts to shake his head rapidly, eyes wide, and slides the ragged paper across the table toward Yuta. “No, I don’t want to see any more at all. I know this might be a terrible decision and I probably should see them all, but this place...” 

He ends his half-thought with a little shrug. Yuta knows that, as the planner, he should discourage an early decision, but instead he moans, “Oh, thank god. I don’t think my feet could handle another day like today. And that place is perfect, everyone needs ducks at their wedding.”

And just like that, the tension bleeds out of Taeyong’s shoulders and he beams at Yuta, an ecstatic little thing that Yuta finds himself mirroring, even as Taeyong turns to Jaehyun to tug him into a celebratory hug.

◎

Yuta spends the next few days relaxing and trying not to check his phone obsessively for messages from either his editor or Taeyong. He can’t do anything on the wedding planning front until Taeyong and Jaehyun have chosen a date, so he sleeps in a bit, plays soccer in the park, and goes to a double feature at the movie theater one day, gorges himself on awful, chocolatey theater snacks and soda and then works the calories off by playing more soccer the next day.

Five days have passed since they toured the wedding venues when Yuta’s phone goes off, Taeyong’s name on the display. He sounds a bit winded when Yuta answers, breathing ragged and uneven as he greets Yuta.

“Sorry,” he says with a shaky little laugh. “I just ran from the bus. Didn’t make a difference though, I got soaked anyway.”

Yuta props his feet up on the balcony railing, not minding the way the rain spatters his toes where they’re just peeking out from under the shade of the balcony above him. He watches droplets of water slide down his ankle and drip off the curve of his calf while Taeyong mutters to himself about damp clothes and catching a cold. There’s a small puddle forming on the concrete below him, staining it a darker gray, growing steadily as the rain starts to fall faster. He loves to sit outside while it’s raining, loves the smell of rain hitting the pavement below and the way it carries the rich scents of summer to him - cut grass, fresh mulch, the bloom of flowers on his neighbor’s balcony. 

“So,” Taeyong finally says, cutting off his own ramble. 

Yuta tips his head back, lets the sound rumble, awkward, out of his throat as he parrots, “So.”

“We want to get married in October.”

Yuta’s brow furrows and he lifts his head back up, pulls the phone away from his ear so he can check the date, just to be sure. Confused, he brings it back to his ear, asks, “You want to wait fifteen months?”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line. He can hear shuffling of some sort, a low murmur of voices that tells him Jaehyun is home early today, and then, “Well, no. We mean  _ this _ October.”

Yuta’s mind goes blank. He stares out at the buildings across from him through a curtain of rain, blurry and tinted a gloomy shade of gray, and tries to process the fact that Taeyong has just told him he wants to get married in three months. They don’t even have a color scheme yet.

“I know it’s really soon,” Taeyong rushes to say, before Yuta can even open his mouth. “I don’t want to burden you, I know you’re really busy with your novel. But I’ve actually just put in my notice at work? So I can be at every appointment and help with anything you need.”

That brings Yuta’s confusing whirl of thoughts to a screeching halt. “Wait, what? You quit your job?”

“Yeah, ummm.” There’s another pause. “One of the doctors here is opening her own practice and she offered me a position there for more pay. And she doesn’t mind if I start after the wedding, I asked, so it just seemed too good of an opportunity to pass up.” He rushes on, not leaving room for any comments from Yuta. “The farm has an opening right at the end of October, and the pictures of the pond in autumn are so beautiful, I just thought -”

Taeyong’s voice is starting to take on that panicky tremor he gets when he’s worried someone might try to argue with him on something, so Yuta cuts him off, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard over the white noise of the rain in the background and Taeyong’s chatter. He already hates himself for giving in as easily as he does, always does when it comes to Taeyong, but it’s Taeyong’s wedding and he’s his best friend. Yuta would do anything for him, would probably even murder someone, if Taeyong asked with those big, irresistible puppy eyes. They’ve been friends long enough that he trusts Taeyong to understand what he means when he says, “You’d better warn Jaehyun there won’t be any ducks there in the fall.”

He hears Taeyong suck in a sharp breath, and then he’s letting out a burst of laughter that crackles static down the line, relief and joy and excitement all packed into that short punch of sound. Yuta rubs a hand over his face and bites back an anguished groan. He can practically see Taeyong in his mind, can see the way his eyes go wide and he bobs excitedly in place, narrow shoulders shimmying back and forth when he’s happy; knows that all of the stress and rush to throw a wedding together in just a few short months will be worth it if he can make his best friend this happy.

“I’ll call the event planner,” Yuta says as he stands up, turns to head inside to grab his binder. “And I’ll narrow the other lists down to places that can turn something out by October. I’ll text you when I have the first appointment date set.”

“You’re the best,” Taeyong enthuses, the happiness in his voice so contagious that Yuta finds himself smiling as he stares down at the binder, fingers dragging across the canvas of the cover. “The best friend anyone could ask for,” Taeyong says, and there’s an undercurrent of steel in his voice this time, something serious and insistent peeking out from underneath the bubble of happiness. 

Yuta’s heart gives a funny little lurch in his chest. He fiddles with the binder cover, flapping it open and shut, tries to cover up the quaver in his voice with a flippant, “Yeah, I know. You better appreciate me, Taeyong-ah.”

He knows Taeyong has seen right through his attempt at being blasé when he murmurs, “With every fiber of my being.”

◎

Yuta is grateful for the few days of rest once Taeyong drops the wedding date bomb on him, because after that, everything kicks into high gear.

◎

Yuta stumbles out of the taxi, cursing under his breath as the toe of his boot catches on the curb and nearly sends him crashing face-first to the pavement. He's an idiot, he's such an idiot - he's the one who scheduled this tasting and he'd somehow managed to forget, hadn't programmed it into his phone like he'd meant to - a rookie mistake - and now he's  _ late _ . 

Yuta hates being late.

A bell chimes as he swings the door open, so hurried that he nearly whacks himself in the face, and he finds himself flushing when four pairs of eyes all turn in unison to stare at him as he trips across the threshold. God, he needs to slow down.

Painfully aware of the attention focused on him, Yuta forces himself to slow his gait, presses a palm to his stomach and takes one slow, deep calming breath. The air smells wonderful, rich with spices and the mouthwatering scent of cooking meat. As he approaches the round table in the center of the shop, Yuta peers around, takes in the open shelving loaded with serving dishes and place settings, framed photos of beautifully plated meals in a wide array of themes and color schemes. At the back of the shop is an open kitchen, where he can see a few cooks putting together dishes, presumably for them to taste.

He clocks two people in neat suits hovering next to the table, one of whom he knows is Hyejeong, Yuta's contact there. Taeyong is sat at the table facing him, a sunny little smile on his face as he watches Yuta near.

"Sorry I'm late," Yuta breathes, eyes honing in on an empty chair across from Taeyong. "I was editing a chapter and lost track of time, and traffic was horrible."

It isn't until he's tugged the chair out from under the table, has started to drop onto the seat, that he realizes who the fourth set of eyes belongs to. Yuta nearly misses the chair, has to catch himself on the edge of the table and slide several centimeters to the side to seat himself fully. Completely embarrassing. 

"Hello, Yuta hyung," Sicheng greets with a short nod of his head.

Yuta doesn't realize he's been staring at him until Taeyong's voice breaks through his confused, distressed stupor.

"Jaehyun couldn't come, but Sicheng was able to make it. Isn't that great?"

Yuta offers the two of them a wan smile, knows he's not convincing anyone when he nods and says, "Great."

Hyejeong's interjection is a welcome distraction when she steps forward and says, voice bright and cheery, "Welcome, Yuta-ssi. Now that everyone is here, should we get started?"

The tasting goes fine. 

Well, the food is fine, at least.

That's not true, the food is not great. It looks beautiful, everything colorful and artfully arranged on gleaming porcelain plates, but it's all strangely tasteless, despite the intoxicating scent of spice on the air, and it leaves Yuta feeling a little confused.

He stares down at the small dish in front of him, laid out with an array of pretty little desserts. Everything is bite-sized and lovely - small tarts decorated with edible flowers, delicate, multicolored mochi, traditional sticky rice cakes stuffed with an array of fillings - and, to his utter confusion, each one of them tastes nearly the same. He glances up at Taeyong, finds him staring down at the plate with a tiny furrow between his brows. He makes a note of something on the paper Yuta had provided, then pokes at one of the rice cakes, sticks the finger in his mouth to lick the honey off, and jots something else down. It looks like he shares Yuta's opinion. Yuta crosses his fingers that the appointment they have in a few days goes better, he really doesn’t want to have to do more research than he already has. Then he shifts his gaze to Sicheng, who has been, to Yuta's distracting irritation, one of the most confusing things about this whole tasting.

With a disapproving frown, Yuta notes that the paper he had given Sicheng so he could keep track of his opinions on the food is still completely blank. He wants to say something, wants to gripe a little at Sicheng's apparent lack of interest in the hard work Yuta has put in, but Hyejeong is standing just a few meters away, over by the wall of elegant table settings, and he doesn't want to upset Taeyong with their bickering. As Yuta watches, sticky rice cakes forgotten, Sicheng leans over to whisper something to Taeyong, earns himself one of Taeyong's squeaky laughs in return. Yuta tries not to let that grate on his nerves, but it's hard. It's especially hard with the way the light is streaming in through the windows at the front of the shop, highlighting Sicheng’s cheekbones and the long slope of his nose, painting his mouth a distracting, vibrant cherry red.

It's a relief, like a heavy weight has been lifted off his chest, when Taeyong politely pushes his plate back and smiles across the room at Hyejeong, signaling her to come over. Distracted, Yuta lets Taeyong wrap the tasting up, makes vague noises of agreement when they look to him for confirmation, though he has no idea what he's agreeing to. He really hopes it’s not an agreement to allow Hyejeong to cater the wedding, but he’s not entirely sure, because Sicheng is standing just there, close enough that Yuta could touch him if he swung his elbow out, and he smells like strawberries. It's a horrible throwback, sends Yuta reeling a bit as he remembers, with vivid clarity, the way that smell had wrapped around him as he stood with his back pressed to the laundry room door of Taeyong and Jaehyun’s old flat, the wood vibrating with the music's heavy bass as they kissed hurriedly, desperately, hands dragging at flies. He can recall the exact feel of Sicheng's mouth against his own, and suddenly that weight is back, pressing on his chest so he can barely drag in a breath.

Yuta's mind races, searching and grasping for an excuse, any reason to make a break for it, slip out the door and put some space between himself and these unwanted memories. He claps a hand to his pocket, tugs his phone out and widens his eyes, like he's receiving an unexpected call.

"Sorry," he mumbles, aiming a thumb at the door. "It's my editor, I have to take this."

He makes his escape, aware of eyes watching him as he slips out the front door. Feeling kind of silly, Yuta raises the phone to his ear and pretends to talk as he paces back and forth along the sidewalk.

"This is stupid," he mutters to himself, a sad attempt at a pep-talk. "You hooked up once and then he left, get over it. You were barely even friends."

Once it feels like enough time has passed, he tucks his phone back into his pocket and turns to lean against the wall. He doesn't much feel like going back in there, knows they won't be using their services anyway. Content to wait like this, he tips his head up toward the sun and closes his eyes, tucks his hands into his pockets and hums quietly to himself. They still have two more appointments, one with one of the bands to look over some of their material, and another to taste wedding cakes. At least not much can go wrong with those, everyone loves music and cake.

A few minutes later, the door chimes open. Yuta turns his head where it’s resting against the wall and watches as Taeyong and Sicheng wave goodbye to Hyejeong, faces pulled into polite masks as the door swings shut behind them. As soon as it’s closed, Taeyong shuffles over to where Yuta is standing and asks, voice pitched low just in case it carries, “Is it just me, or was that -”

“Completely tasteless,” Sicheng says with a disbelieving laugh. He squints as he peers through the windows, murmurs out of the side of his mouth, “They’re watching us. I wonder what they’re saying. Do you think they know their food sucks?”

“Maybe that’s why they make it so pretty,” Yuta muses, too caught up in the charm of Sicheng’s amusement to realize how strange this is, the two of them joking around.

“To distract from how tasteless it is,” Sicheng agrees with a snicker, covering his hand with his mouth in case the people inside can lip read.

“It was very pretty,” Taeyong sighs, looking just a little bit sad.

Yuta reaches out to squeeze the back of his neck, rub his shoulder in consolation. “Don’t worry, we have another appointment on Thursday. This place has a great reputation, I saw them mentioned on dozens of blogs.”

“Are you coming Thursday, Sicheng?” Taeyong asks, leaning into Yuta’s touch. Yuta tugs him in against his side, an arm around his shoulder, and waits for Sicheng to answer, not sure what he wants him to say.

Sicheng’s face is unreadable as he watches Yuta, says casually, “I only have one class at seven in the morning. I can meet you after, if you want me to.”

“Of course we do,” Taeyong says immediately. “Your opinion means a lot to me. To  _ us _ .” His hand comes up to pinch Yuta’s side, just under his jacket where Sicheng can’t see. 

Yuta just keeps his expression neutral, watches Sicheng as he considers the two of them, then nods. “Okay, just text me where and when.”

“Great,” Taeyong says with a smile. He pinches Yuta again, harder this time, and continues, a hint of something Yuta does not like in his sugary tone, “Yuta will text you tonight. I’ll send him your number, if he doesn’t still have it from before.”

Yuta’s stomach lurches and he turns to stare at Taeyong, trying his best to convey his thoughts to Taeyong telepathically. He has a feeling Taeyong knows exactly what he’s thinking, anyway, if the smug tilt to his smile is any indication. Silently fuming, Yuta drops his arm and mumbles something about making it to their next appointment, then steps away from the two of them, tugs his phone out to call a taxi.

Yuta is quiet in the taxi, unable to stop thinking about Taeyong’s pointed comment. Sicheng’s phone number. His mind far off, Yuta unlocks his phone and scrolls absently through his contact list, stops at the spot where Sicheng’s name would be. Had been, at one point in time, sandwiched between Seunghyub and Siyeon. Mouth pinched into a firm line, Yuta locks his phone and turns to peer sightlessly out the window, thinks about how long it had taken him to delete Sicheng’s number, how, after Sicheng had gone back to China, he used to pull up his contact, thumb hovering over the call button while he debated with himself. In the end, he hadn’t called, and Sicheng hadn’t reached out, and eventually, the feel of Sicheng’s fingers pressed to the soft skin of his hips, the memory of the exact shape of his eyes when he smiled, had faded.

Letting out a soft huff of breath, Yuta squeezes his eyes shut. It’s embarrassing to think back on, how hung up on Sicheng he had been. The point is, though, the thing he clings to, is that he  _ had _ finally deleted Sicheng’s number, and it had felt... good. Freeing, at the time, though that feeling hadn’t lasted long. 

He had done it just days before he ran into Sicheng again, apparently back from China, though no one had thought to tell him. He ran into Sicheng at the market, stumbled upon while his hand was buried in a pile of peaches, searching for the perfect one. Sicheng had stammered a hello, pink spots high on his cheeks as he clutched a bag of potatoes to his chest, had started to ask if Yuta maybe wanted to call him sometime to have coffee, and Yuta had thought about how silently he had disappeared, had thought about the radio silence for the better part of a year, of Sicheng’s freshly deleted number, and had blurted out that he was seeing someone, sorry, not even an offer to be friends, and that was that. Sicheng’s expression had shut down, he’d mumbled something about needing to get some eggs, and Yuta had watched him slink off, his hand still stupidly buried in a mound of peaches, and that had been the end of Sicheng’s short-lived friendly streak.

Yuta frowns, wonders where they would be if he had said yes to Sicheng that day, if they had gone for coffee and become friends. If Sicheng had been there for his breakup with Doyoung, if this weird, simmering discontent that he feels around Sicheng now would be something softer, instead, something warm and liquid and lovely, something close to what he used to feel when they were together, back Before.

He sighs, breath fogging the window, and shakes his head. It’s silly to wonder, he tells himself, straightening up as the taxi slows and pulls up to the curb alongside a neat row of offices. He can’t turn back time, can’t distract himself with wondering and wishing. There is only now, he thinks, and as he climbs out of the taxi, emerges out onto the sidewalk and catches Sicheng’s eye, he decides that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little friendlier now. For old time’s sake. For Taeyong and Jaehyun’s sake.

Steeling himself, Yuta offers Sicheng a smile, small and cautious, waits while surprise registers on Sicheng’s face. It’s been a while since Yuta’s smiles have been genuine, the shock is understandable. It fades, though, melts into something a little more open. It’s not a smile, but it’s friendly, and Yuta will take it, tucks it into the corners of his own smile as he turns to head inside. He pointedly ignores Taeyong’s questioning look as he holds the door open for the two of them, decides he doesn’t want to explain himself, just yet.

The rest of the day passes easily. 

The band they interview is lovely. They’re not all there, as some of them have day jobs, but the leader of the band is the perfect representative. She shows them videos of performances, lets them browse their catalogue, and answers all of their questions as thoughtfully and thoroughly as she can, and by the time they leave for their cake tasting appointment, all three of them are smiling.

The satisfying appointment with the band seems to set the tone for the cake tasting, another rousing success. Yuta eats more cake than he has in his entire life, put together, but he just can’t seem to stop himself. There are dozens of flavors and combinations, bite sized pieces arranged on several plates spread between the three of them, and Yuta has never been so grateful for Taeyong’s immense sweet tooth as he is today. It’s the hardest thing he’s done in a while, narrow dozens of options down to three, and the three of them bicker and squabble over the different flavors for nearly two hours before settling on one flavor for each tier.

It’s comfortable, and Yuta is almost sad to say goodbye once they’re finished. The three of them stand outside the cake shop waiting for their respective taxis, eyes locking and skittering away, awkward and juvenile in a way that makes Yuta’s skin tingle. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, and he finds himself tugging his phone back out of his pocket, unlocking it, and handing it to Sicheng without a word.

Sicheng stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before Taeyong pokes him and says, amused, “Put your phone number in, idiot.”

The soft noise of understanding Sicheng makes as he takes the phone echoes in Yuta’s head. He watches, silent, as Sicheng carefully enters his number, then debates over how to save it, long enough that Yuta’s taxi arrives before he’s typed anything.

Yuta takes the phone back with a short laugh. “I’ll save it,” he reassures him as he pulls the taxi door open. “And I’ll text you the location for Thursday.”

Sicheng just nods, eyes wide on Yuta’s face, watches quietly as Yuta hugs Taeyong goodbye, then slides into the car. As soon as the car pulls away from the curb, Yuta looks down at his phone, chews on his lip for a moment as he stares at Sicheng’s phone number, still vaguely familiar to him. Sighing, Yuta shakes his head and enters Sicheng’s name, simple, casual. No embellishments, no emojis, tucked between Seunghyub and Siyeon just as it had been two years ago.

◎

Taeyong goes to visit his sister in Busan for a week, and Yuta panics.

In reality, they’re in a good position: venue, band, caterer, and cake maker have all been chosen, they all had suit fittings earlier in the week, and Taeyong and Jaehyun had settled on a color scheme the day before he left. The florist can wait until Taeyong gets back and they already have dance lessons scheduled every Saturday in August, but Yuta can’t shake this feeling that they’re dreadfully behind. 

He texts Taeyong so many times his first day away that Taeyong tells Yuta that he’s sending something that will help him calm down, then turns his phone off. Yuta sulks around his flat for a while, alternates between flicking rapidly through channels on the television and rifling through his refrigerator in search of something he can turn into a meal. He’s been doing this for one long, agonizing hour when a knock sounds on his door.

Yuta straightens from where he had been hunched over with his head in the refrigerator and peers toward the doorway, frowns. What could Taeyong have sent him?

Another knock sounds just as Yuta comes to a stop in front of the door and when he opens it, there’s a fist in his face. He takes a hurried step back before the hand can try to knock again, right against the bridge of his nose.

“Oh. Hello, Yuta.”

Yuta’s stomach twists and he stands there, one hand clutching at the door like a lifeline, and stares blankly at Sicheng across the threshold.

“Sicheng? You - how did you get up here? How do you know where I live?”

Sicheng just shrugs, effortlessly beautiful in a soft blue sweater and fitted jeans. “Taeyong hyung texted me, he said it was an emergency. And someone was leaving as I got here, so I didn’t need to call up.”

He steps into Yuta’s apartment without waiting for an invitation, toes out of his shoes and nudges them against the wall as he crowds into the narrow entryway and tugs the door gently out of Yuta’s death grip. Then, with soft hands that feel distressingly familiar, he grasps Yuta’s shoulders so he can turn him around and march him through into the living room.

Yuta watches, stunned silent, as Sicheng stops beside him and takes a minute to look around. In four years, he has never once had Sicheng in his apartment. Not even Before.

He takes his phone out and texts Taeyong ‘ _ what the fuck? _ ’ then looks up again. Sicheng is here, in his apartment, standing comfortably, like they haven’t been actively trying to ignore each others’ existence for the better part of two years. What is happening?

A strange lump in his throat, Yuta follows his text up with ‘ _ I will kill you _ ’, then tucks his phone back into his pocket and crosses his arms protectively over his chest, waits until Sicheng’s slow loop of the room carries him back around so he’s facing Yuta.

He stops, then, asks, “So, where is the emergency?”

Yuta clears his throat, scrubs his cheek awkwardly against his shoulder. “There is no emergency, I don’t know why Taeyong sent you.”

“He said you were panicking about something, that you needed help.”

“It’s not -” Yuta’s voice cracks and he pauses, clears his throat again, willing this damning blush to fade. “I wasn’t  _ panicking _ .” Yes he was. “I just thought that we needed to be planning more. The wedding is in two months and Taeyong’s just disappeared for a week and there’s still so much to do -”

Yuta can feel it, the anxiety welling up in his chest, clogging his throat again, and he forces himself to stop, to suck in a long, slow breath through his nose.

Sicheng just watches him for a moment, expression calculating, then asks, “What decisions can we make without Taeyong and Jaehyun?”

Yuta stares at Sicheng, surprised. In the last few weeks, Sicheng has shown little interest in the planning process past getting to eat good food and make Jaehyun happy by standing in for him when he can. In fact, he’s been carefully neutral any time his opinion has been asked, to Yuta’s utter frustration. What is the point of him tagging along if he isn’t going to help them in any way? And yet here he is, offering to help Yuta in his stupid, senseless panic that he knows he’ll regret later but just cannot seem to get a grip on in the moment.

“Um.” He glances around, not quite sure what he’s searching for at first. His eyes land on his binder, though, sitting on the coffee table with that morning’s coffee gone cold beside it. Grasping for it like a lifeline, Yuta strides across the room to snatch it up, opens it to his carefully articulated table of contents. It takes a moment for his eyes to be able to focus on the words there, but he shakes the cobwebs clear, reads down the list before deciding, “Photographer, suit accessories, maybe florist?”

Sicheng just nods, head bobbing awkwardly, like a particularly beautiful chicken, then he walks over to join Yuta by the couch. He sinks gracefully to the carpet and tucks his legs under the coffee table, props his elbows on its surface, and looks up at Yuta, expectant, waiting.

It takes Yuta a second to fully process what is happening. It feels a bit like he's entered an alternate dimension, but he learned enough science in school that he know that isn't really possible. Which means Sicheng is  _ actually _ sitting in his living room, waiting to be given a task. Yuta is still tempted to pinch himself to make sure he isn't dreaming.

Instead, he heads to his office to grab his laptop, then joins Sicheng on the floor, close enough that they can both comfortably see the computer screen, but far enough apart that they aren't touching. Yuta can still feel the body heat rolling off of Sicheng, warm and inviting and awfully distracting. He scoots a little further away, hopes Sicheng doesn't notice, or at least doesn't mind.

They sit in uncomfortable silence while Yuta's laptop boots up. Yuta feels a bit like he's stuck in a movie, right at the cliched awkward bit where the protagonist and their love interest, both trying very hard not to stare at each other, shift their gazes rapidly around the room without aim and clear their throats for absolutely no reason, just to emphasize to the viewer how awkward the silence really is. Yuta has no idea why he keeps clearing his throat, but he can't seem to stop.

Finally, as the screen flickers on and prompts him for his password, Yuta lets out a quiet sigh of relief. It occurs to him, as he's entering his password, that he's not being a very good host. He aims a shifty gaze at Sicheng over the top of his arm where it's still busy typing away, asks, "Do you want some coffee? Or tea? Or, uh, I also have water and banana milk and some chocolate milk, I think -"

"Water is fine," Sicheng interrupts, cutting off Yuta's nervous rambling. "Thank you."

Yuta pushes to his feet and pads into the kitchen to grab some water and make himself some tea. As the kettle heats up, he balances his palms against the edge of the counter, drops his head between them and just breathes, long and slow. It helps, as does the comforting heat of the mug cradled between his palms as he seats himself back down at the coffee table.

"Okay, where do you want to start?"

Sicheng hums, considering. He reads over the categories in Yuta's binder, finger tracing down the list as he goes, then decides, "Suit accessories might be the easiest one to do."

Yuta nods. That's smart, logical. He drags the binder closer so he can flip to the section detailing their outfits. There is a card stapled to the page, given to him by the tailor, with a short list of reliable sites to buy things like pocket squares and ties from. Yuta picks one at random and pulls it up in the browser, then finds the option to sort everything by color. He had scribbled the color scheme for the wedding in the corner of the page with their suit details so he wouldn't have to keep flipping back and forth while he completed this task.

"You're very thorough," Sicheng comments as he scans the page.

Something like pride swells in Yuta's chest and he smiles at Sicheng, forgets that they're supposed to be awkward and distanced when he leans in to bump their shoulders together, forgets to keep the warmth out of his voice when he grins and says, "Thank you, I try."

Yuta finds himself relaxing, bit by bit, as they both lean in closer to read the tiny words on the filter menu. 

“There’s pink,” Sicheng mutters, pointing at one of the tiny words on the screen. Yuta squints to try and see the little check box next to it, clicks. “And here’s silver, I think you missed black.”

Yuta checks off silver, then scrolls back up to the top of the menu. “Why are the words so small? Who designed this website?”

“You know, if you...” Sicheng reaches over Yuta, stretching across his arms so he can click a couple of keys on the keyboard, and Yuta freezes. There it is again, that overwhelming smell of strawberries wrapping around him like a blanket as Sicheng invades his personal space.

Yuta squeezes his eyes shut, tries to hold his breath as Sicheng does whatever it is he’s doing. He doesn’t open them again until he feels Sicheng retreat, breathes a quiet sigh of relief that he hopes Sicheng doesn’t hear.

“Is that better?” Sicheng asks after a moment of Yuta staring blankly down at the computer.

“What?” he asks, lifting his head to meet Sicheng’s questioning gaze.

“I made it bigger. Can you see the words better, or should I increase the size again?”

He gestures toward the computer screen, so Yuta turns to look, realizes that the words on the filter menu are slightly larger. “Oh. No, that’s. That’s better, thank you.”

Clearing his throat, Yuta leans in again, makes sure he’s ticked off all of the appropriate boxes, then narrows the search. The two of them spend the next hour browsing through pocket squares and bow ties, cummerbunds, waistcoats with oddly specific details on them, and traditional neckties. There are even a few ascots that Sicheng insists on saving just to make Jaehyun laugh, though Yuta is a little concerned Taeyong may actually like the idea. 

Yuta’s stomach starts to complain as they’re scrolling through cufflinks, so Sicheng steps away to order something for lunch while Yuta makes a list of every member of the wedding party and what accessories each one of them will need. 

By the time the food arrives, they have a basket full of pale pink pocket squares, simple black ties, pink waistcoats for the grooms and best men, and silver cufflinks for everyone. They add decorative silver combs for the sisters and mothers, and Yuta double checks and triple checks the count on each item in the basket as he shovels chicken into his mouth, makes Sicheng read him off the list and the numbers they had tallied each time, just to be sure. Finally, satisfied that they’ve covered everything, Yuta sits back, cursor hovering over the checkout button.

“You know, I would send this to Taeyong to check over before I order, but there wouldn’t be a point, because he’s turned his phone off.”

Sicheng snorts, nearly chokes on his noodles as he tries not to laugh. Once he’s managed to swallow the mouthful of food, he asks, “You were that bad, huh?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yuta grumbles, dragging his chicken back over so he can shove another piece into his mouth. “Should I press order?”

“Well, we know you have everything we need, you only checked a dozen times,” Sicheng teases, and Yuta aims a bland look at him, unamused. Sicheng just smiles at him, the picture of innocence. 

Yuta sighs, forces himself to look away. With Sicheng hanging over his shoulder, he presses the checkout button, pushes his chicken aside so he can carefully enter his address and billing information. With only a small amount of trepidation sitting uneasy at the back of his throat, Yuta clicks on the order button, breathes out a long, slow breath when his email pings with the confirmation. He opens it on his phone so he can take a screenshot and text it to Taeyong, adds ‘ _ look what i did! call me when you’ve decided to stop being a jerk!! _ ’

“You’re kind of weird,” Sicheng comments, tone mild, as leans back onto his palms so he can observe Yuta. “I never noticed it before.”

“That’s because I was trying to impress you before,” Yuta mumbles into his chicken without thinking. He freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth, face flushing bright red as what he’s just said catches up with him.

He can practically  _ feel _ the cogs in Sicheng’s brain turning as he processes the meaning behind Yuta’s words, thinks of a suitable response, so he tries to head him off before he gets a chance to formulate anything. Yuta grabs at the binder and starts flipping frantically through the pages, stops once he gets to the section on photographers.

“Okay!” he says, overly bright and cheerful, silently willing his blush to subside. “Moving on to photographers! I saved a lot of them, but they each have a different vibe, so let’s go through their websites and narrow them down.”

His hands are trembling as he goes to type in the first company on the list. For the hundredth time that day, Yuta hopes, fervently this time, that Sicheng doesn’t notice. It takes two excruciating minutes for the site to load, too many photos embedded into the homepage, and Yuta doesn’t realize he’s tapping his fingers anxiously until Sicheng settles a hand over his own, says, his voice soft and hesitant, “Yuta -”

“I found this photographer on a popular wedding blogger’s website,” Yuta practically shouts, steamrolling whatever Sicheng had been about to say. He really, really doesn’t want to get into it today. Or ever. He doesn’t bother to check if Sicheng is looking, just starts to scroll down the homepage in search of the sample gallery as he explains, “Their photos are very nice. Pretty standard. Definitely a contender, but some of the other photographers have really interesting styles that I thought were worth considering.”

It takes a few minutes of Yuta babbling and scrolling through photos from various weddings and events for Sicheng to give in, shoulders slumping and hand sliding to the floor. Yuta falters for just a fraction of a second when he does, relieved that it seems like he’s going to drop it, at least for now. Relief doesn’t explain the bitter taste at the back of his throat, though.

◎

Yuta doesn’t see Sicheng for a while.

Sicheng doesn’t show up to the florist appointments and then Yuta has to miss the next suit fitting to meet with his editor, has to make it up alone the next day, stood awkward on the dais as the tailor flits around him checking inseams and waist bands and the darts they added to his jacket in complete silence.

The next time Yuta joins Jaehyun and Taeyong for something wedding related, they’re picking him up for their first dance lesson. It’s oddly reminiscent of their very first outing, their first appointments to see venues. He wakes up far too early for a Saturday morning, gets dressed with sleep-heavy limbs, and trudges out to Jaehyun’s car only to find Sicheng already in the back seat, staring at him with wide, dark eyes as he clambers clumsily into the car.

“What, no coffee this time?” he jokes.

He doesn’t mean anything by it, brain still sleep-addled and too slow to remember that he and Sicheng are at a strange impasse at the moment, but Sicheng’s eyes go even wider than they already were, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him and now he’s going to kick himself for it. Yuta feels bad immediately, reaches a hand out without thinking to grip Sicheng’s arm. Sicheng goes very still underneath Yuta’s palm.

“I was just kidding, Sicheng. I didn’t mean it.”

Sicheng just nods, eyes locked on Yuta’s hand where it’s wrapped around his wrist. Feeling self-conscious now, Yuta lets go of him, tucks both of his hands between his knees and turns to look out the window in order to avoid looking back at Sicheng’s flushed face. The drive to the studio is an agonizing slow crawl across the city this early on a Saturday, the silence of the car and the weight of Sicheng’s gaze on his profile leaving Yuta’s skin crawling with nerves. He practically throws himself out of the car once Jaehyun pulls up to the curb and puts the car in park, stumbles out ungracefully and latches onto Taeyong’s arm as soon as he joins him on the sidewalk.

The dance instructor, Hyebin, is waiting for them inside. She greets them with a bright smile as they shuffle in and look around, taking everything in. It looks exactly as Yuta had imagined a dance studio would - all windows facing the street for maximum natural light, gently scarred hardwood floors, a little kitchenette in the corner with a minifridge and an odd collection of dishes on open shelving, and an entire wall of mirrors opposite the windows. As Yuta watches their reflections, he catches Sicheng’s eyes landing on him, then skittering away, bright patches of pink blooming on his cheeks that tell Yuta he hadn’t meant to look in the first place, certainly hadn’t planned on being caught.

“Alright! Welcome to my studio,” Hyebin says with another friendly smile. She rubs her hands together and studies the group for a moment, then turns to Yuta and Taeyong, Yuta’s arms still wrapped around him, and asks, “Are you Taeyong and Jaehyun?”

“Oh,” Yuta says with a nervous laugh, letting go of Taeyong and taking a step back. “No, I’m Yuta, we spoke on the phone.”

Jaehyun moves around to Taeyong’s side, waving off Hyebin’s apologies with a smile, the one that always puts people at ease. “Don’t worry about it, it happens all the time. I don’t get jealous.”

Hyebin’s laugh is a little forced, confusion knitting her brow, but she carries on anyway. “So it will just be the four of you?”

“We’ll have the rest of the groomsmen next week,” Yuta explains, “but they couldn’t make it today.”

“Well, it’s good that you came with an even number,” Hyebin says with a nod. “Okay, why don’t we all line up in front of the mirrors?”

She leads them over and positions them a half meter apart, then takes them through some of the standard stances and pacing before pairing them up. When she turns Yuta so he’s facing Sicheng, something inside him short-circuits. For some reason, it hadn’t even occurred to him that they would have to dance with each other, which is silly considering they’re only four and of course Taeyong and Jaehyun would be dancing together.  _ Idiot _ , he mentally chides himself, pressing his lips together and raising his chin so Sicheng won’t be able to tell that he’s nervous. He hopes. 

“Okay, well one of you will have to lead and one will have to follow,” Hyebin explains, pacing back and forth between the two pairs. “Once you’ve decided, assume the stances we practiced.”

Jaehyun and Taeyong take their stances immediately, but Yuta and Sicheng don’t move. Nervous Yuta has two modes that he waffles between: awkward brain shut down Yuta or over the top flirty Yuta, and he never knows which one he will revert to. Flirty nervous Yuta takes over today, it seems, when he raises an eyebrow, cocks a hip and asks Sicheng in a low voice, “So, do you lead or do you follow?”

Sicheng’s eyes go wide and he glances quickly at Hyebin to see if she’s listening in, breathes a quiet sigh of relief to see that she is fussing over Taeyong and Jaehyun at the moment. Yuta’s lips curl into a smile when Sicheng looks back at him, a challenge in his eyes, and asks, “Which do  _ you _ prefer?”

“It depends on the partner.” Smile sliding into more of a smirk, Yuta leans in a little, purrs, “I like to take charge, but I’m versatile.”

Sicheng’s cheeks flush at Yuta’s words, the suggestive tone of his voice, and Yuta watches with interest as he shivers and takes a half step back. Before either of them can speak again, Hyebin appears beside them, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Well? Who is leading? I don’t see any stances.”

With a shrug, eyes on Sicheng’s face for any signs of protest, Yuta takes a step forward to close the gap Sicheng has tried to put between them, says, “I’ll lead.”

Sicheng just nods and moves closer, allows Yuta to settle a hand on his waist and places his own carefully on Yuta’s shoulder and against his waiting palm. It feels a little silly at first, standing there with their clasped hands raised and elbows locked like two awkward teenagers. Hyebin takes a moment to correct their grips on each other and nudge them a bit closer together, then steps back so she can begin to instruct them.

It’s slow at first. They can all dance - club, mostly, a little freestyling for Taeyong, ballet and traditional Chinese dance from Sicheng - but ballroom is different, the steps and rhythm and stiffness foreign and vaguely uncomfortable. It doesn’t help that Sicheng is his partner, that they’re holding hands, closer than they’ve been in almost three years. Yuta could count Sicheng’s eyelashes, if they stood still long enough, especially with the way Sicheng keeps casting his gaze down, shy, eyelashes brushing the curves of his cheekbones. It’s kind of cute, Yuta can admit that to himself, and when he catches their reflection in the wall of mirrors, he gets a strange jolt down his spine. They look good together. They always have, even when Sicheng was aloof, letting Yuta cling to him but carrying out conversations with other people, like Yuta was a particularly clingy cat that just needed to be touching him to be happy. It wasn’t too far off the mark, really, but Sicheng had liked it, if the laundry room blowjob had been any indication.

Yuta shakes his head minutely, trying shake those thoughts loose. That night in Jaehyun and Taeyong’s laundry room is the last thing he needs to be thinking about while he’s holding Sicheng and twirling him around a room with three other people in it. Closing his eyes briefly, Yuta forces his mind blank, focuses it on the movement of his feet, the timing of their steps and the angles of their arms.

By the time Hyebin calls for a break, there is sweat sliding down Yuta’s temple and his arms are cramping from holding them so rigid. He breaks away from Sicheng with a sigh of relief and accepts the water bottle Jaehyun hands him with a grateful smile.

“You two are too stiff,” Hyebin informs them, pointing between Yuta and Sicheng. “Have you just met each other?”

Taeyong scoffs and Jaehyun speaks for them, an infuriating little smirk on his face. “They’ve known each other for four years.”

Hyebin’s gasp is overly dramatic, but it makes Taeyong giggle. She glances back and forth between them, then narrows her eyes, asks, “Did you date and break up?”

“No!” Sicheng protests immediately, glancing at Yuta with wide eyes.

Hyebin just nods sagely, like she understood everything tucked into that one panicked syllable. “I see. So you  _ wanted _ to date.” Without allowing either of them time to object, she claps her hands together and declares, “Well, you’ll just have to get over it. Your best friends are getting married and as the best men, you have to dance at the wedding. Everyone will be watching you,” she warns, peering ominously at them. 

It’s kind of creepy. A shiver works its way down Yuta’s spine.

“Okay, we have fifteen minutes left. Let’s switch partners for the rest of this session.” Yuta’s shoulders sag in immediate relief and he turns to Taeyong, already smiling. The smile fades a little when Hyebin continues, “We’ll pick back up with our original partners at the next session. And I want you four to  _ practice _ before you come back next week. I’ll be able to tell if you haven’t.”

She stares pointedly at Yuta and then at Sicheng, who just shifts under her gaze, uncomfortable. Neither of them responds.

The last fifteen minutes of the lesson, dancing with Taeyong, pass much more enjoyably. They hold each other comfortably, grips relaxed, and move with ease around the room. The steps feel more natural, the pacing not quite as strange as Taeyong mutters it under his breath for the two of them to follow.

Hyebin sends them off with fresh water bottles and a ringing reminder to practice, practice, practice. Yuta peels his sweaty shirt away from his skin as they pile into the car, amazed at just how much work that had been.

“I think I lost two kilos today,” he marvels, staring down at the way the fabric of his shirt has gone dark with sweat. “I look like I’ve just been playing soccer in the park for hours.”

“It was hard,” Jaehyun agrees, tugging at his own shirt in an attempt to cool down. “Are you guys hungry?”

“I just want a shower and a nap,” Yuta says with a scrunch of his nose. He feels disgusting. “Sorry.”

“Me too,” Sicheng agrees quietly, and Yuta turns to look at him. He looks mostly unruffled, clothes pristine, but his hair clings to his temples a bit, and it comforts Yuta somehow, to know that Sicheng struggled with that as much as he did.

When Sicheng catches him looking a moment later, Yuta tugs his phone out and checks his emails, channels his attention into responding to a message from his editor and another from the artist designing his book cover. By the time the car pulls to a stop in front of his apartment, he has to be pulled out of a work daze by Taeyong’s finger drilling into the meat of his thigh.

“Yuta. Yutaaaa,” Taeyong trills, poking and poking. Yuta tears his eyes away from his phone and the sent mail confirmation, confused. Taeyong just smiles at him and points out the window. “We’re here.”

“Oh! Sorry, I was just emailing my editor. Thanks for the ride.” He leans over the gap between the seats to clap Jaehyun on the shoulder and press a kiss to Taeyong’s forehead. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Taeyong just nods, a serene little smile on his face. They have a meeting with the event planner at the farm to go over the setup for the wedding and reception. With one last nod and a short wave to Sicheng, Yuta pushes the car door open, has one leg out the car and the other on the ledge, when Taeyong calls out, “Don’t forget to meet up with Sicheng and practice before next Saturday!”

Yuta freezes, half in, half out of the car, and turns slowly to face them, certain that Taeyong is joking. He looks completely serious though, eyebrows raised as he watches Yuta. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yes?” Taeyong’s brow furrows. “You heard Hyebin, she’ll know if you didn’t practice. You two need to get more comfortable or you’re going to fall behind in the lessons. We only have two months to go.”

Yuta lets out an anguished groan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remind me.” He sits there for a long moment, pinching hard enough to ease the pressure headache forming behind his eyes just the slightest bit, then he sighs. “Fine.” When he opens his eyes, Taeyong is smiling at him, satisfied. Yuta just scowls at him then turns to look at Sicheng, tells him, “I’ll text you.”

Then, without waiting for a response, Yuta slides out of the car and shuffles slowly up the walkway to his apartment, ready to shower and fall into the oblivion of a Saturday afternoon nap, ready to forget about the last hour, about the warmth of Sicheng’s palm against his shoulder, the curve of his waist under Yuta’s hand, the weight of Sicheng’s hand in his own.

It doesn’t quite work out, especially not when Yuta’s phone pings with a new text as soon as he crawls into bed, still shower-damp and gloriously naked. Groaning just a little, he grabs his phone off the nightstand and peers blearily at the screen.

**Dong Sicheng (11:02 am):**

Tuesday, 6:00, my place?

Closing his eyes, Yuta turns his face into the pillow and lets out a short scream. Then, feeling marginally better, he turns back to his phone, types out a careful response.

**Nakamoto Yuta (11:04 am):**

sure

text me your address

Then Yuta turns his phone on do not disturb, shoves it in the drawer of his nightstand, rolls over onto his stomach, and sinks into unconsciousness.

◎

On Tuesday, Yuta stands in the middle of his living room dressed only in his underwear, phone in hand, and contemplates not showing up at Sicheng’s apartment. He could come up with some excuse - he’s a busy guy with a new book in the works, last minute editor meetings happen - but the more he thinks about it, the more he feels like an asshole for even considering it. So instead, he finds himself stood in the doorway to his closet, staring blankly at racks of clothing that blur into one colorful mass. What does one wear to go practice a waltz with a guy they were really into a few years ago but now... okay still kind of into, but have a painfully awkward relationship with?

He considers texting Taeyong and asking, but that feels a bit too much like exposing something he doesn’t want to deal with, so instead he stands in the shirt section of his closet, closes his eyes, and blindly grabs at whatever his hands first come in contact with. He pairs the shirt he’d landed on with a pair of jeans and some boots, debates whether or not the boots make it look like he’s trying too hard, decides they do, and switches to a pair of vans. Something about the vans bother him, though, so he changes back into the boots and has to force himself to stop thinking too hard, grabs his things, and leaves before he can change his mind again.

Sicheng’s apartment isn’t far, barely a ten minute bus ride that puts Yuta in front of the call button fifteen minutes too early. Scrubbing his palms against his jeans, Yuta frowns at the panel in front of him, then looks around to make sure no one is watching him be weird in front of Sicheng’s apartment building. He doesn’t want to look like he’s loitering, but it’s too early to call up. Yuta takes a step back and finds himself debating whether or not this is a good idea again. 

He’s half made up his mind to turn right around and go back home when a voice says from behind him, “Yuta?”

Flushing, caught, Yuta whirls around to find Sicheng standing there, a bag of take-away in hand and a very confused expression on his face. It’s still warm out, the last dregs of summer clinging on and leaving the air around them stale and ripe with the scent of dying leaves, but Sicheng has on tight jeans and a light leather jacket that leaves Yuta’s mouth dry. Sicheng tilts his head to the side, fading sunlight catching on his long neck and turning his skin golden. Yuta thinks he catches a bit of makeup at the corners of his eyes. His skin tingles. 

He coughs, awkward, mildly turned on, and hopes that standing in the shadow of the building behind him is enough to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“You’re early,” Sicheng says, breaking the heavy silence.

Yuta ducks his head, embarrassed at being caught waiting around, then gets annoyed with himself for being embarrassed. Fuck, he needs to get a grip. “Bus was quicker than I thought.”

Sicheng nods, face unreadable. Then he raises the hand holding the take out bag, says, “Sorry if you rang. I was picking us up some dinner.”

“Oh.” Flustered now, Yuta flashes Sicheng a hesitant smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Sicheng just shrugs, ducks his head to hide the quick curve of his own smile, pretty and bright. “I asked you to come over late, I should at least feed you.” There’s a short pause where they just look at each other, both unsure of what to say, then Sicheng sighs, jerks his chin toward the building. “Let’s go inside, it’s too hot out here.”

“You’re the one who decided to wear a leather jacket,” Yuta teases without thinking, holding the door open once Sicheng has punched in the code.

Sicheng just levels him an unimpressed look that makes something coil and swirl in Yuta’s gut as he slips past and into the building. The scent of strawberries clings to him, scents the air around him, sweet and pleasant. “I look good in this jacket.”

That startles a laugh out of Yuta and he concedes with a nod, raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We all make sacrifices for the greater good.”

“The greater good,” Sicheng murmurs, amused. He’s so pretty when he smiles. He’s pretty all the time, really, but especially so when he smiles, cheeks rounding out and eyes squinting with the force of it. Yuta tries not to stare.

They’re quiet as they ride the elevator up, but it’s not uncomfortable. Yuta peeks at Sicheng from the corner of his eye, finds Sicheng already watching him, open and unabashed. Flustered, Yuta ruffles a hand through his hair, asks, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Sicheng shakes his head, but doesn’t offer an explanation, maddeningly enigmatic as always. Before Yuta can press further, though, the elevator grinds to a stop and the doors roll open, leaving him to follow Sicheng out into the hall.

It’s been years since Yuta has even considered the possibility of seeing the inside of Sicheng’s home, and as he walks down the narrow hall and into the living room, he finds his head spinning just a bit. It’s a weird feeling, getting a glimpse into Sicheng’s life like this when they’ve been at odds for so long. His apartment is nice, everything done in soft grays and blues, overstuffed sofa, large television framed by shelves stuffed to overflowing with books and knick-knacks and dozens of framed photos. The kitchen is small and open, the bedroom lofted, and sitting in front of a glass door leading out to a small balcony is -

Yuta drops to his knees and holds both hands out, voice pitched high, delighted as he whispers, “Hi, little baby! What’s your name?”

The kitten, a tiny, fluffy ball of white fur, just blinks at him for a moment before standing and, after a luxurious stretch, making its way slowly across the floor toward Yuta.

“That’s Mei,” Sicheng says from the kitchen as he puts the bag of food down and shrugs out of his jacket. “I just got her a few weeks ago.”

“Mei,” Yuta coos. “Aren’t you pretty.”

Mei stops just short of Yuta’s outstretched arms, studies him for a moment, then leans in and presses her tiny pink nose right into his palm. Thrilled, Yuta glances over his shoulder, asks, his voice quavering with excitement, “Can I pick her up?”

“Sure. She’s friendly.” Sicheng leans back against the counter to watch them, asks as an afterthought, “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” Yuta murmurs, distracted. He fits a hand under Mei’s stomach and cradles her against his chest, holding her carefully as he settles down on the floor. She tips his head back to look at his face and when he leans down to touch his nose to hers, she begins to purr. “Oh my god, I love you,” he whispers, heart swelling in his chest. He can feel himself smiling, so wide his cheeks are beginning to ache, but he can’t tamp down in it. She’s just so  _ cute _ and soft and he can feel her tiny paws flexing against his chest in happy kitty bliss. 

All thoughts of awkward tension and restrained flirting and nerves about having to dance with Sicheng flee Yuta’s mind as he stares down into Mei’s big green eyes. He strokes a finger down the back of her head, scratches under her chin, so absorbed in petting her that he barely registers Sicheng joining them in the living room. He perches on the couch beside Yuta and props his chin on his hand, watches, amused, as Yuta sinks into a kitten fog.

He has no idea how much time has passed when Mei begins to wiggle in his grip, ready to be put down. Trying not to feel disappointed, he sets her on the rug and watches as she toddles over to a water bowl to drink, then noses around in her food bowl. He loses a few more minutes just watching as she eats, so absorbed that he startles when Sicheng says, “Are you hungry?”

“What?” he asks, turning to look at Sicheng. He feels like he’s coming out of a daze, everything a little blurry around the edges. He blinks the fog away, shakes his head to try and clear it. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s been ignoring Sicheng for who knows how long. With a sheepish grin, he gets up off the floor so he can sit beside Sicheng on the couch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you like that. She’s just so cute.”

He glances helplessly back at the kitten, who’s now dunking her paw into her water bowl, then licking it clean.

“That’s okay,” Sicheng says with a smile of his own. “I understand. Do you want to practice first, then eat?”

“Sure,” Yuta nods. He tries not to pout when Sicheng picks Mei up and puts her in what he assumes is a bathroom with her food and water bowls so she won’t get underfoot while they’re dancing.

Feeling awkward again without the cat between them, Yuta tries not to fidget as Sicheng scrolls through his phone looking for the song Hyebin had put on during their lesson the other day. His brow furrows in concentration as Sicheng comes to a stop in front of him, places a hand on his shoulder and holds the other hand up, waiting. Sucking in a long, slow, steadying breath, Yuta settles his hand on Sicheng’s waist, warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and takes Sicheng’s other hand in his. Sicheng’s fingers fold down over the back of his hand, his grip light, and it’s stupid, juvenile and embarrassing, the way butterflies flutter to life in his belly.

It takes a few minutes of Sicheng counting off the steps for it to come back to Yuta, but he gets it eventually, tension in his shoulders easing as he falls into a groove. He doesn’t realize he’s pulled Sicheng in until the song ends, a few seconds of blaring silence, then loops around again. He looks up at Sicheng, startled by how close their faces are. He doesn’t step back though, butterflies fluttering madly again, and Sicheng doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Yuta, a curious glint in his eyes, and lets Yuta lead them around the small space between the kitchen and the coffee table.

The song loops three more times as they dance, posture easing just a bit with every passage around the room. It takes a few minutes for Yuta to realize they’ve come to a stop even though the song is still playing, Sicheng’s eyes dark, wide and luminous on Yuta’s own as they stand in the center of the living room. The world starts to filter back in around them in fragments: the evening sun setting through the tall windows, the faint smell of Chinese food wafting toward them from the kitchen, the way the overhead lights are reflecting in Sicheng’s eyes, the softness of Sicheng’s palm against his own, the way he can feel Sicheng’s ribcage expanding and contracting with each slow, steady breath, a faint scratching noise - 

Scratching? 

Confused but reluctant to look away from Sicheng’s magnetic gaze, Yuta whispers, “Do you hear that?”

It takes a minute for Sicheng to respond. He just stares at Yuta for another moment, a long, slow sweep of eyelashes as he blinks, and then, “Noise? What noise?” There’s a brief pause, and then, “Oh, Mei!”

Yuta feels a strange sense of loss as Sicheng takes a step back, tugs his hand out of Yuta’s grip so he can go open the bathroom door and let the kitten out. His hands fall to his sides, cold and empty, and he watches quietly as Mei stalks off toward a hollow planter with her tail swishing indignantly and disappears inside, then turns to find Sicheng in the kitchen, fussing with take-away containers and bowls. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the long lines of Sicheng’s body, accentuated by his fitted jeans and the shirt tucked neatly into the waistband. Just a moment though, and then he shakes himself off, whispers, “Snap out of it, Yuta,” and strides forward to offer his help.

They eat their dinner huddled together on the living room floor, fighting Mei off as she tries valiantly to get her nose into Yuta’s bowl. It’s comfortable in a way they haven’t been in years, an easy flow of casual conversation, soft laughter at Mei’s increasingly dramatic attempts to steal food, and Yuta leaves later that night with something soft and warm curled up in his chest, something that feels a little bit like hope.

◎

Hyebin is inordinately pleased with their progress when they arrive at the studio the following Saturday, so she sets the four of them to practicing while she gives the rest of the groomsmen the rundown on the basics. Yuta watches in the mirror as Hyebin pairs the four of them off and instructs them to start practicing, then switch leaders when the song loops, can’t stop the smug little smirk as he watches Mark’s panicky face as Donghyuck closes in on him.

The smirk fades as Hyebin approaches them, an appraising look in her eyes. She stops beside them, watches them dance for a minute, then nods in satisfaction. “Much better. You’re more comfortable together. Did you finally start dating?”

Yuta’s mouth falls open and he hears Mark squawk, “ _ What _ ?” from the other side of the studio.

Sicheng rolls his eyes, but Yuta can hear him laughing quietly, soft puffs of breath against his shoulder as they slow to a stop.

“Not dating,” he tells Hyebin, loud enough that Mark can hear them as he stumbles over Donghyuck’s feet.

Sicheng doesn’t say anything when Hyebin hums and eyes them, their grip on each other, doubtfully. He just watches Yuta, an unreadable expression on his face as Hyebin offers them advice on their posture and rhythm, then pulls Yuta back into a slow waltz as Hyebin moves away to critique Taeyong and Jaehyun.

◎

The last months leading up to the wedding pass in a smooth, distracted blur. Yuta is grateful for how well everything goes, if not slightly suspicious of the fact that  _ nothing _ has gone wrong yet, because the editing team gets his book back to him for a new round of revisions at the beginning of September and they’ve requested a bit of reworking and a few scene extensions that require all of Yuta’s time and attention for a couple of weeks.

He manages to finish it off and send it back to his editor just days before their last suit fitting. They’re only three weeks out, Yuta realizes as he climbs out of the taxi in front of the tailor. Nerves start up in his belly, twisting and curling at the thought, leaving him nauseous and just a little bit dizzy, and he’s not even one of the grooms. He runs down his mental checklist as he walks up to the front door, muttering to himself under his breath as he goes through the categories. He knows, he  _ knows _ he’s kept track of everything, but he feels guilty for putting the wedding on the backburner to work on his book now, even though they’re done with the planning and Taeyong and Jaehyun had both assured him repeatedly, insistently, that his book was more important than checking and rechecking floral arrangements.

Yuta pauses, one hand on the door handle, and whispers to himself. “Caterer, check. Venue, check. Cake, check. Photographer, check. Band, check. Florist, check. Dance lessons, check. Rings, check. Suits in progress, but check.”

He’s racking his brain trying to recall if he’s missing anything important when a hand closes around his own, startling him out of his thoughts. He jerks his head back to find Sicheng behind him, brows drawn in concern as he looks down at Yuta.

“Everything okay?” he asks, palm warm where it’s settled over the back of Yuta’s hand gripping the door handle.

“Yes,” Yuta whispers, just a shade too breathy. He clears his throat, says more forcefully, “Yes. Just had a moment and needed to run down the checklist.”

An amused smile curls one corner of Sicheng’s mouth and he settles his other hand on Yuta’s hip, unexpected and warm through the thin fabric of Yuta’s shirt, and squeezes. “You’re fine,” he reassures. “Everything is under control, you’ve checked it all a million times. Relax now, we’re almost there.”

“Easy for you to say,” Yuta mutters, ducking into the shop. Sicheng’s hand falls away from his hip, leaving behind a warm imprint against Yuta’s skin, and he lets out a quiet breath.

He’s not mad about Sicheng’s indifference in regards to all of the wedding planning anymore. He likes being in control anyway, likes being the one making the calls, cataloging, putting all of the pieces together. And at the very least, having Sicheng there, involved or not, has brought them to this strange, tentative middle ground - not quite friends, not nearly as closed off as they used to be - and it’s... nice. Yuta slows his gait, waits for Sicheng to catch up with him before rounding the corner to the area of the small shop partitioned off for fittings and adjustments.

Taeyong and Jaehyun are already there, dressed in their suit pants and button-downs, making faces at each other while the tailor and her assistant measure and make notes on clipboards.

“Oh, hey guys,” Jaehyun greets, catching sight of them as he turns so the tailor can take more measurements.

Taeyong twists around to say hi, then pauses, eyes the way the two of them are standing together by the counter with interest. “Did you come together?”

Sicheng shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his face when he tells Taeyong, “I found him outside having a breakdown over the wedding checklist.”

“Again?” Taeyong sighs and frowns at Yuta, disappointed.

“I was just being thorough,” Yuta scowls. “Be grateful, this is your wedding I’m planning.”

“More like neurotic,” Sicheng mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Yuta to hear.

Indignant, Yuta worms a hand under the hem of Sicheng’s jacket and pinches his side, smug when Sicheng yelps and scampers away. He pointedly ignores the way both Taeyong and Jaehyun are watching the two of them with raised eyebrows, turns away wordlessly to find his suit so he can go get changed.

When he comes out of the dressing room in his pants and shirt, Yuta stops short in the dressing room doorway, mouth gone dry, head filled with a dull buzzing sound. Sicheng is standing in the corner in just the suit pants, brow furrowed as he struggles to unbutton the shirt around the hanger. He’s gorgeous, his body slender and graceful somehow even while standing still, clearly that of a dancer.

Yuta doesn’t realize he’s been staring at the way Sicheng’s abs flex as he works on the shirt until a cold hand settles on the back of his neck, startling him out of his daze. He turns to see Taeyong grinning at him, something smug and knowing tucked into the corners of his smile. It makes Yuta want to protest, deny something Taeyong hasn’t even put word to yet. Instead, he turns away from the site Sicheng makes, angles himself toward Taeyong so he can’t even see Sicheng in his periphery. Out of sight, out of mind. Works like a charm.

“You okay over here?” Taeyong asks, grin morphing into a full blown smirk. 

Yuta pointedly does not answer. He will not be baited. Shaking his head, Taeyong squeezes the back of Yuta’s neck, a silent offer of support that doesn’t go unnoticed, has a small lump of something like gratitude rising in Yuta’s throat.

Then he dashes it all to hell when he says, “They’re ready for you over there, loverboy.”

Unwilling to dignify that with a response, Yuta slinks over to the dais, where the tailor’s assistant is waiting. Taeyong’s soft, squawking laughter follows him across the room, both endearing and supremely irritating at the current moment. Jaehyun laughs when he catches sight of Yuta’s sour expression, still stood on the second dais while the tailor finishes up. “Is he being mean to you?”

“Always,” Yuta grouses, lifting his arms so the assistant can check the waistband of his pants.

Jaehyun laughs. “Aww, I apologize for him.” He pauses to murmur a thank you to the tailor when she gestures him off the dais so Sicheng can take his place. 

Yuta is about to thank him, shoulders thrown back and a pointed glare aimed at Taeyong, when Jaehyun walks over to him with one of his signature easy grins - the first warning sign. He pats Yuta’s hip and offers him a cheeky wink - the second warning sign - and murmurs, “We’re in public, hyung. Keep it in your pants... loverboy.”

The indignant huff he lets out has Jaehyun and Taeyong bursting into laughter. Sicheng eyes Yuta, questioning, as he steps up onto the dais across from him, shirt on and buttoned now, thank goodness, but Yuta just shakes his head. His measurements don’t take long, not nearly enough time to ogle Sicheng as he twists and turns on the platform. Which ends up being a good thing, because when Yuta turns for one last check of his inseams, he finds Jaehyun and Taeyong watching him, heads tilted together as they whisper to each other. They both grin when he catches them, but he just squints and sticks his tongue out at them, then turns away. 

The waistcoat and jacket fittings go relatively quickly from there, and they all pile out of the small shop excited and hungry. Lunch is a cheerful, comfortable affair. Yuta shoves Jaehyun out of the way as they approach the table, claims Taeyong all to himself this time and drapes himself over Taeyong’s side in the booth. He tries not to look at Sicheng too much throughout the meal, pours all of his attention and affection into Taeyong, who just giggles and squirms in place, pleased with the attention. He can feel Sicheng’s eyes on him, though, heavy and persistent.

He can feel the weight of them long after lunch has ended and they’ve all gone their separate ways.

◎

The wedding date sneaks up on Yuta, faster than he thought possible.

One day they’re three weeks out and getting their waistcoats measured, the next they’re piling into a limousine at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, headed out to the countryside in sweet, drowsy silence. Taeyong and Jaehyun are tangled together at the back, Jaehyun’s legs across Taeyong’s lap and Taeyong’s forehead pressed to Jaehyun’s chest as they doze. Yuta is stretched out on his stomach on one of the side benches, binder open on the floor by his head and phone in hand as he scrolls through email confirmations and text messages. He knows everything is in order, but his restless mind won’t let him relax. He runs down the list of vendors, matches each one to a confirmation email and the follow-ups he had sent out the previous week, and once he’s found everyone, he cycles right back around to the beginning, just to make sure he hadn’t somehow missed one.

He’s run through the list three full times by the time his phone is snatched right out of his hand, the binder dragged away and tucked out of sight. Yuta lays there for a moment, hand still cupped around an invisible phone, before what’s happened sinks in. He turns to see who the culprit is, a hot scolding on his tongue, but when he sees Sicheng sitting there, elbows propped up on his knees as he leans across the center of the car to peer at him with worried eyes, the reprimand dies on his tongue. Yuta’s shoulders slump and his arms give out and he flops onto the seat, cheek smushed into the leather, mumbles a barely comprehensible thank you. He’s exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Sicheng reaches a hand out slowly, fingers warm and soft as he pushes Yuta’s hair out of his eyes, and Yuta goes very still. Breath held, he watches Sicheng’s face, studies the way his brow furrows and his lips pout in concentration, memorizes the exact feel of Sicheng’s fingers against his skin when he gently drags them against the bruised skin underneath Yuta’s eyes. It’s been building for weeks, this strange, hesitant, familiar feeling, and in that moment, he feels it burst open in his chest. Feels it bud and bloom like a flower, petals unfurling as it angles itself toward the sun, toward the tender glide of fingers across his skin.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Sicheng murmurs, more concern than accusation.

Moving very carefully, not wanting to disturb Sicheng’s touch or scare him off, Yuta shrugs, whispers, “Sleep is for the weak.”

Sicheng’s response is a disbelieving snort. Yuta tries not to pout or reach out to grab on when Sicheng withdraws his hand so he can lean back in his seat, but it’s a near miss. He curls his hand into a fist instead and tucks it under his chest, right up against his thumping heart, content to just watch Sicheng from underneath his eyelashes for the rest of the ride. 

He must fall asleep at some point, because the next thing Yuta knows, there’s a hand in his hair scratching lightly at his scalp and he has to pry his eyes open. When did he close them? Sighing a little, Yuta focuses in on Taeyong’s face where he’s crouched down on the limo floor, eye level with Yuta.

“Hey,” he whispers, working hard to resist the urge to purr like a cat when Taeyong scratches at his scalp again.

Taeyong’s eyes fold up into a happy little smile and he whispers back, “Hey. We’re here. I’m getting married today.”

Warmth suffuses Yuta’s body, leaving him liquid and boneless. He stretches under Taeyong’s hand, eyes sliding shut again, murmurs happily, “You’re getting married today, Taeyongie.”

It takes a second, as he sinks into the warmth of the leather underneath him and the comfort of Taeyong’s hand in his hair, and then the words play back in his mind. Yuta’s eyes fly open with a wild gasp and he sits up so fast he nearly knocks his head into Taeyong’s.

“You’re getting married!” he shouts, standing up so fast he hits the roof of the limousine. “Fuck,” he curses, dropping down to crawl out of the car on his hands and knees. He nearly falls out of the limo, graceless and hurried, then shoves his head back in so he can bark out, “Taeyong-ah, let’s go. We’re going to be late!”

Taeyong just watches him from his perch on the limo floor, amused. “Yuta, it’s 7:30 in the morning. The wedding isn’t until 5:00.”

“I have to go check on everything,” Yuta gasps, not registering a word Taeyong has said.

He stumbles away from the limo and toward the little guest house where they’ll be relaxing and getting ready. The event planner is standing by the front door with the florist, chatting amiably. He seems so calm. Why isn’t he  _ working _ ? He catches sight of Yuta and turns toward him with a welcoming smile that doesn’t falter, even as he takes in Yuta’s disheveled appearance and the panic in his eyes.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Nakamoto?” he asks when Yuta stops beside him.

“I need you to tell  _ me _ that,” Yuta says, looking across the grounds to where the tent is being set up for the reception. He can see stacks of tables waiting to be unfolded, a few of the vendor trucks parked alongside the limousine, and people marching back and forth across the lawn, shouting to each other and hefting pieces of the tent structure into place. Yuta blows out a long, slow breath and mutters, “This looks like a disaster.”

The event planner shoots him a strange look, then says, “There are still nine hours until the wedding, Mr. Nakamoto. Don’t worry, everything will be ready and beautiful.”

Not satisfied, Yuta announces, “I’m going to talk to the manager.”

He strides across the grass, shoulders squared. He just wants to talk to the guy, make sure everything is going to plan and that they know what they’re doing -

“Let’s go look at ducks,” a voice says out of nowhere, and before Yuta knows what’s happening, Sicheng has an arm looped through his own and is steering him purposefully away from where the tent is beginning to take shape. Yuta opens his mouth to protest, but Sicheng just steamrolls him. “Isn’t it pretty? They chose the right season to get married here. Look, there are ducks!”

Resigned, Yuta follows the line of Sicheng’s arm to the pond where there are, indeed, a few ducks floating peacefully across the surface despite the chill in the air. Jaehyun will be pleased. Yuta stays quiet as Sicheng leads him right to the water’s edge, then takes a few minutes to look around, take a nice, deep breath of refreshing country air. It really is beautiful out here, even more so in the fall. It’s been a mad rush to get this wedding together, but Sicheng has a point. Taeyong had been right to set it for October, and it’s going to be gorgeous, whether or not the tent is set up in time. Yuta really hopes the tent is set up in time.

Blowing out a long, slow sigh, Yuta sinks to the ground. Maple leaves in every splendid shade of red and yellow crunch underneath him as he shifts around to get comfortable. The ground is cold and hard and just a bit damp, but Yuta doesn’t care, especially not when Sicheng sits down beside him, just close enough that their shoulders touch. 

They don’t talk for a while, content to just sit there and watch the ducks paddle around and bob for fish, and it’s nice. Peaceful and warm, despite the cold seeping in through the seat of Yuta’s pants. As the minutes pass, he can feel the panic, the itch to micromanage ebb away, loosening his shoulders and slowing his pulse. He leans on Sicheng, hesitant, just a tentative press of shoulders, and when Sicheng doesn’t back off, he leans just a little bit harder. 

By the time Taeyong and Jaehyun find them, they’re huddled together against the chill breeze coming off the pond. Yuta tips his head back to look up at them as they come to a stop at their sides and Taeyong smiles, ruffles a hand through Yuta’s hair. “The tent is done.”

“It is?” 

Regretfully, Yuta pulls away from Sicheng so he can twist around and look. Sure enough, the enormous tent is up, stark white against a backdrop of yellows and reds and browns. It looks nice, exactly as an event tent should, Yuta supposes. He hopes everything inside is going well, now.

“They’ve started carrying in the tables and chairs,” Jaehyun informs him. “We tried to go in and look, but they kicked us out.”

“Well that’s rude,” Sicheng mutters, and Yuta laughs.

Taeyong plays with Yuta’s hair, twisting it around his fingers and tugging until Yuta tips his head back again, looks up at him and asks, “Do you want to start getting ready?”

Taeyong wrinkles his nose. “We still have hours until the photographers arrive and I’ll start to get nervous if we get ready too early. Let’s just hang out until we can go bug catering for some lunch.”

And so Taeyong crowds in on Yuta’s other side, Jaehyun next to him, and the four of them sit beside the pond and talk and laugh while the crew sets up behind them, turns the farm into a venue fit for a wedding. Their stomachs start to rumble a while later, so they climb to their feet and turn to find the place transformed. 

A small arbor has been arranged along the side of the pond, draped with white roses and lilies and interspersed with enormous, pale pink dahlias. Facing the arbor are rows of silver chairs for the guests. The tent is off to the side, and they can hear voices and the clanking of metal coming from inside. Windows in the fabric show people bustling around with tables of different shapes, more silver chairs, and the various components of the centerpieces. 

“I don’t think we should try to go back in,” Jaehyun whispers.

Taeyong cranes his neck, peering around. “Should we try the catering truck?”

“Can’t hurt,” Yuta muses, so they set off for the cluster of vans and the one that has the caterer’s logo splashed across the side.

Before they’ve even made it to the back of the van, where the doors are propped open, the caterer emerges from the front of the van, stopping them in their tracks, and shouts, “Don’t you come over here. There’s food waiting for you in the house.”

“I love you!” Yuta calls back, and they all laugh as she blushes and waves them off so she can get back to work.

And so they change course for the little house, open the door to find a massive spread on the small table in the kitchen that fills the house with the mouthwatering scent of roasted chicken, braised beef, steamed rice, and something spicy and fragrant. They fall on the feast like ravenous creatures, reaching across each other and trading dishes left and right as they fill their bellies. There are still hours to go before the ceremony begins, and who knows if they will even have time to eat at the reception.

After they’ve eaten their fill and packed away the leftovers, they head upstairs to start getting ready. The nerves begin to set in as Yuta carefully unpacks their suits and hangs them on the clothing rack in the corner. Sicheng is arranging a case of light makeup he’d brought on the little vanity, and Taeyong and Jaehyun are standing in the center of the room, hands clasped tight as they look dazedly around at everything.

“Where do we start?” Taeyong wonders, and Yuta snaps into action. He may not be a true wedding planner with a headset and assistants, but he can manage Taeyong and Jaehyun so that they don’t get a chance to start panicking.

Yuta sits Taeyong down at the vanity so Sicheng can do what he wants, then grabs Jaehyun to help him sort all of the accessories. The other groomsmen aren’t set to arrive for another hour or so, so they set their waistcoats and cufflinks aside and arrange the rest of them in piles on the sofa so they won’t mix any of them up. Once Sicheng has given Taeyong and Jaehyun light makeovers for the photographer, he beckons Yuta over.

Doubtful, Yuta settles down in the vanity seat and looks up at Sicheng. “What do you want to do to me?”

The look Sicheng sends him in response has a shiver rippling down his spine. Yuta shifts in his seat, suddenly a bit warm, and he feels himself flush pink, sees it in the mirror when Sicheng reaches a hand out to rub a finger under his eye, gentle, just like he had been in the car. 

“I’m just going to cover these. You have really nice skin.” His finger trails down Yuta’s cheek and along the edge of his jaw before dropping to his side. Yuta is having a hard time breathing. Sicheng goes quiet, though, attention now focused on trying to match Yuta’s skin tone.

Yuta watches him as he works, watches Sicheng’s eyes flick back and forth between Yuta’s face and his products, then as he mixes something on the back of his hand with a small brush. “How do you know how to do all of this?”

Sicheng shrugs, then leans in to dab something along the underside of Yuta’s eyes. “Dance competitions and showcases. And youtube.”

Trying not to laugh while Sicheng is working on him, Yuta huffs, murmurs, “A man of many talents.”

A small smile curves the corner of Sicheng’s mouth. Yuta doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s staring this time. He peers up at Sicheng’s face as he works, covering up his dark circles and blending it out just enough so that it won’t be obvious in the photos. After a few minutes have passed in comfortable silence, Sicheng asks, “Can I put some eyeshadow on you?”

Tipping his head back a little, Yuta looks up at Sicheng through his lashes, murmurs, “You can do whatever you want to me, Sicheng.”

It’s Sicheng’s turn to flush, splotches of pink right over the apples of his cheeks, and it makes something warm curl up in Yuta’s belly. He closes his eyes so Sicheng can do as he pleases, sits still while he dabs primer on, then pats and brushes and rubs what feels like a few different shades in along his lid and brow bone. When Sicheng tells him to open, Yuta meets his reflection, smiles at the subtle smokey eye and the way the line of dark shadow along his lashes elongates and accentuates the curve of his eyes.

“Pretty,” he affirms, leaning in for a closer look.

“Yes,” Sicheng whispers, and when their eyes meet in the mirror, Yuta has a sneaking suspicion that Sicheng isn’t referring to the makeup.

By the time all four of them have changed into their pants and shirts and fussed with cufflinks and ties, the room has filled up with the rest of the groomsmen. Donghyuck and Mark chatter away, effectively distracting Taeyong and Jaehyun, while Jaehyun’s friend Johnny insists on taking photos of everyone and everything before he gets dressed himself. Taeyong’s friend Ten starts messing around with their hair, advancing on them with palms full out mousse and making noise about wanting to be able to see their eyes in photos. It’s too small of a room for eight people, elbows knocking and toes stepped on as they try to pull on their waistcoats and jackets, fold up pocket squares and straighten tie knots, but it’s fun and exciting, and Yuta can feel the anticipation building as time marches closer and closer to the moment the photographer is meant to arrive. 

When that does happen, there is a flurry of activity. Six pairs of hands reach for various body parts of Jaehyun and Taeyong’s, tugging and adjusting until they’re both laughing and trying to fight them off. They emerge from the press of bodies looking slightly worse for wear, to the photographer’s dismay, and he has to spend the first few minutes allotted for photos redoing their hair and retying their ties himself.

They spend an hour taking photos around the property with various combinations of groomsmen, then when the families arrive, they get a short break so they can take family-only photos. It’s exhausting, posing and smiling and holding positions for so long Yuta can feel his limbs begin to cramp. It’s worth it, though, for the pure joy Taeyong and Jaehyun are radiating, standing in a field of vividly colored leaves surrounded by people they love.

To Yuta’s surprise and relief, nothing goes terribly wrong leading up to the wedding, and Taeyong and Jaehyun get married as the sun begins to set over the pond, ducks floating across a surface gone a brilliant shade of orange. Yuta cries - discreetly, of course - and Sicheng elbows him gently in the side when he notices, and Yuta lets out a small, hiccupping laugh that he knows will be embarrassingly audible in the video footage. But it’s fine because Taeyong tears up too, and he hears both of their mothers sobbing in the audience, and, tactfully, no one says a word about his red-rimmed eyes after. It’s  _ fine _ .

True to Yuta’s prediction, the band is perfect and gets everyone in attendance appropriately hyped up. Despite the amount of alcohol they have already consumed, the first dance goes beautifully. Jaehyun and Taeyong are naturals together, and this new closeness between Yuta and Sicheng doesn’t hurt their own routine when they join them halfway through the song. Taeyong keeps making  _ eyes _ at Yuta as they make their way around the dance floor, ducking around their parents and Taeyong’s sister dancing with Johnny, cousins and friends who pour onto the floor to join them, just so he can question Yuta with a flick of his eyebrows, a quirk of his shoulder. Yuta steadfastly ignores him, even as he and Sicheng stick together for another dance, and then another.

Eventually Taeyong’s mom steals Yuta away, and he spends a few songs dancing with Taeyong and Jaehyun, but he and Sicheng find their way back to each other several songs and a little bit more alcohol later and this is fine, too. Sicheng’s hands on his hips, Yuta’s fingers tucked into the hair at the nape of Sicheng’s neck, legs stacked together as they move to the beat. They’re not grinding, not really, not with so many family members and children around, but they may as well be with how close they’re standing and it’s. Fine. Yuta’s head feels a bit swimmy and his fingertips are tingling as he strokes them through Sicheng’s hair and everything is warm warm warm.

Yuta is only a little disappointed when Taeyong and Jaehyun crash into them halfway through the next song so they can all dance together. He has to remind himself that this is  _ their _ wedding, Taeyong is the priority. It’s just hard to remember that when Sicheng is staring at him from across their circle of friends, his eyes dark and liquid in the dimly lit tent.

By the time the party begins to wind down, Yuta is slumped over a table, a glass of soju in hand as he twirls it slowly so it catches the lights over the dance floor. Most of the guests have gone, it’s just family and the wedding party now. Johnny and Ten are slow dancing to a chirpy pop song, Taeyong and Jaehyun are huddled in a corner eating cake like it’s the first food they’ve had in days, and Sicheng is beside him downing his own glass of soju. The hand not clutching his cup is resting on Yuta’s thigh, palm hot through the fabric of his pants, and it’s making Yuta itchy. He shifts in his seat, restless, trembles when Sicheng’s hand slips just a bit higher. Trying his best to be subtle about it, Yuta slouches in his seat, shifts his leg so the hand there slides even higher. Sicheng doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s being cheeky about it, and everything about this moment is so reminiscent of Before that it’s making Yuta a bit dizzy. 

He’s not drunk, not really, but he feels like he is when Sicheng turns his head slowly, eyes so dark they reflect the spinning lights, and asks, “Do you think they would notice if we left?”

Yuta stares at him for a moment, not sure if he means what Yuta thinks he means. It’s fine if he doesn’t, he’s still game to leave now, but god he hopes Sicheng means it that way. Slowly, very slowly, his heart in is throat, Yuta shakes his head no. Nodding, Sicheng tosses back the rest of his soju, then plucks Yuta’s glass out of his hand and tugs him to his feet. 

He tries to look casual as they leave, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched like he’s exhausted - and he is, really, it’s been a long fucking day, full of emotional highs and too much dancing on too little sleep. If Sicheng means what he thinks he means, though, screw sleep. Sleep is for the weak. 

Jaehyun and Taeyong are going to take the limousine back, so Sicheng calls them a taxi and they wait out by the curb, arms wrapped around themselves as the chill of the night seeps into their bones. Silence spins out between them while they wait, casts a delicate web through the scant space between them, but it feels like anticipation. Yuta wants to reach out, wants to touch the gentle curve of Sicheng’s back, but just as he’s made his mind up to, has tugged his hand free from the crook of his elbow and started to reach out, the taxi pulls up. 

Disappointment settles in the corners of his mouth, but he follows Sicheng into the car, doesn’t speak as Sicheng rattled off Yuta’s address to stop at first, as he’s closer.

Ten minutes into the car ride, after the lights of the farm have dimmed and faded and the country road around them has become nothing more than a blurred silhouette of trees and shrubs, Sicheng’s hand slides across the seat and settles high on Yuta’s thigh. He tries not to shiver. Fails. Thinks about putting his hand over Sicheng’s, then worries that it’s too cheesy a gesture. He doesn’t want cheesy, he wants sexy. He wants Sicheng, has wanted Sicheng. Has wanted him for years, buried bone deep and aching, but his bones have cracked open, the wanting has risen to the surface and it’s brimming over. 

Yuta flicks a quick glance at the front seat, checks the driver’s attention, then turns to look at Sicheng. Jolts when he finds Sicheng already watching him, his face mostly shadow, dark like bruises across his skin. His eyes, though. They reflect the light of the moon, just peeking from behind some clouds, and Yuta thinks that maybe that flower in his chest, thinks maybe that thing inside his chest, that creature is a moonflower with the way it yearns, it’s petals searching, reaching. He reaches. 

Sicheng meets him halfway, a hurried clack of teeth that has them giggling, breaths soju-sweet, and readjusting. The second time’s the charm. Yuta closes his mouth around Sicheng’s plush bottom lip, a kiss far too sweet for the heat raging inside Yuta’s body. Years, he thinks, it’s been years, as he reaches up with both hands, sinks them into Sicheng’s hair and drags him in. It goes from chaste to desperate in seconds, leaves Yuta reeling as Sicheng’s tongue slides against his own. He tastes of cake and raspberry soju, sweet and tart and intoxicating, and Yuta must make a noise because the driver raps his palm on the steering wheel and calls out, “Ya, not in the car!”

They break apart with breathless laughter, eyes a little wild, mouths kiss-swollen and cheeks flushed as they put a few centimeters of space between them. Yuta feels like a teenager, heart racing at being caught, but he’s not quite ready to let go just yet. He sinks down in the seat, slides his hand around to the inside of Sicheng’s thigh and scratches at the inseam until Sicheng is squirming against his palm.

The ride to Yuta’s place feels like one long, blurry breath, an inhale as Sicheng’s thigh flexes against his fingers, an exhale as their heads tip toward each other but stop just short, mouths barely brushing, anticipation building like a fire being stoked in Yuta’s belly.

When the car rolls to a stop outside Yuta’s building, he fishes bills from his wallet and hands them to the driver without checking to see what he’s given him, then tugs Sicheng from the car with hands on his wrists and then his waist. He has to enter the building code three times before he gets it right, head too full of Sicheng and the hand sliding across the small of his back, palm wide and fingers long. Those fingers don’t stop moving, restless against the fabric of his jacket as they cross the lobby and punch the elevator button repeatedly, impatient.

The elevator ride is a testament to Yuta’s willpower. Just as the doors start to close, one of his neighbors squeezes in, offers the two of them a friendly smile as she stands casually, unaware, beside them. Staring straight ahead, Yuta slides a hand along the rail until the inside of his wrist is resting against the curve of Sicheng’s ass. Sicheng doesn’t move a muscle until the elevator shudders to a stop and the doors ping open. They let the neighbor go first, then book it to Yuta’s front door. Yuta’s hands are trembling so much that he misses the first number in the keypad, has to go back and start again once it resets, Sicheng’s mouth an impatient heat against the back of his neck.

The inside of his apartment is dark and cool, everything silent and still around them. Waiting. They don’t bother turning any lights on. Yuta just spins around and pins Sicheng to the door, hands on his hips as he tips his chin up for a kiss. The kiss is slick, heady, just a little dirty, and Yuta can’t quite believe he’s here, with his mouth on Sicheng and Sicheng’s arms around his shoulders. They’re still wearing their suits and Yuta is stifling, but there are more important things that need to be taken care of.

Planting his palms against the wood of the door, Yuta wedges a thigh between Sicheng’s and presses in close, as close as he can get. Sicheng tips his head back against the door and Yuta takes the opportunity to kiss down his neck, scrape his teeth against the tendon there. The moan Sicheng lets out when he does that goes straight to Yuta’s dick and he rolls their hips together without thinking, is rewarded with another low, hissing moan and Sicheng sinking down just a bit so he can rut against Yuta’s thigh.

Yuta feels like he’s been hard for hours, days,  _ weeks _ , and feeling a bit frantic now, not wanting to waste another moment, he fits a hand between them, flattens his palm against the front of Sicheng’s pants, fingers cupped around the hard length of him through the fabric. The whine Sicheng lets out sends a shiver down Yuta’s spine and heat curls low in his belly when Sicheng presses against his palm, mindless, seeking pressure, friction, anything.

Hungry for those little sounds he keeps making, Yuta kisses his way back up to Sicheng’s mouth, swallows down his moans as he kneads at him his with fingers. “Yuta,” he breathes, hot and desperate, hips working restlessly against Yuta’s hand.

“Yeah,” Yuta whispers, distracted for a moment by the way Sicheng’s body moves, his torso long and lean, his movements elegant, even as he’s rubbing off against Yuta’s palm. The thought clears Yuta’s head just a little and he shakes it, repeats, “Yeah.”

Then Yuta sinks to his knees, shoving his jacket off as he goes. He makes quick work of Sicheng’s pants, unbuttons them and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both the pants and his underwear and tugs them right down to his ankles, then tugs open the buttons of his shirt so he can push it aside. Sicheng shivers as the cool air of the apartment hits his bare skin, then again when Yuta slides his hands up his legs, thumbs dragging along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

It’s tempting, with Sicheng spread out for him like this - trembling and panting, eyes wide and dark as he watches Yuta intently - to tease. He wants to see how far he can push him, how much he can wreck him - but that’s a thought for another time. Yuta is too hungry now, has waited too long for this moment. Fingernails dragging against the crease of his thigh, Yuta slides his hand up to grasp the base of Sicheng’s dick and flicks his tongue against the head, teasing, unable to resist this much, at least.

Sicheng’s head thumps back against the door and he shudders, full body, when Yuta wraps his lips around the head and sinks down, slowly slowly. Sucks at the tip, curls his tongue along the underside, makes note of the noises Sicheng makes whenever he does something he seems to like. He takes it slow at first, an easy slide, working Sicheng deeper and deeper. He doesn’t want Sicheng to come like this. He wants Sicheng laid out naked on his bed, flushed and sweating, wants to be inside of him so badly he  _ aches _ . And so he works Sicheng up until he’s shaking, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the smooth door, and then he eases off, peers up at Sicheng and touches the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth. Sicheng curses, one hand fluttering in the air near Yuta’s head, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.

Eyes still locked on Sicheng’s, Yuta turns his face into Sicheng’s waiting palm, hums a little when Sicheng shudders out a breath and drags his thumb across Yuta’s swollen lips, then down the curve of his neck. His voice is soft, reverent, when he whispers, “You look...”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but Yuta knows what he means to say. Without another word, he straightens, climbs to his feet, and takes the hand Sicheng still has hovering in mid-air. He laces their fingers together as he leads Sicheng through the apartment, navigating around tables and couches effortlessly in the dark.

Yuta’s bedroom is a mess, but Sicheng doesn’t comment on it. He just drops his jacket and shirt to the floor alongside a discarded sweater and perches on the end of the bed, watches hungrily as Yuta strips off his own suit and dumps it in a pile on his desk chair. He’ll have it dry cleaned later, he’s not fucking around with hangers right now.

Warmth fizzing through his veins, Yuta steps between Sicheng’s splayed knees, cups his hands around the sides of his neck and tips his chin up for a kiss. It’s a slow one this time, aching and deep, the kind that makes Yuta’s fingertips tingle and his stomach knot up. His throat burns with something he doesn’t quite understand. He doesn’t want to stop.

As if in agreement, Sicheng fists his hands in Yuta’s hair and drags him down to the mattress with him, never once breaking the kiss even as they wiggle their way toward the center of the bed. Yuta settles between Sicheng’s legs, pins Sicheng’s arms to the mattress and lines their hips up so he can grind against him, the pressure so good it makes Yuta’s teeth ache.

“Yuta,” Sicheng gasps, fingers flexing against empty air. “Yuta, please.”

“What do you want?” Yuta asks as he mouths down the side of his neck, nips along his collarbones and down the center of his chest. The keening noise Sicheng makes when Yuta flattens his tongue against his nipple has satisfaction curling in his gut, hot and heavy and heady. He does it again, and then again, sucks bruises into the honeyed skin across his chest until Sicheng is writhing underneath him, fingers twisting in the blankets, both of their bellies slick with precome.

“Yuta,” he groans, twisting away from Yuta’s relentless mouth. “Please, I’m -”

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you,” Yuta whispers, easing back. He smooths both palms down Sicheng’s sides in broad, soothing strokes, then crawls across the bed to root through his nightstand.

When he drops the lube onto the blanket, Sicheng snatches it up before he can do anything else. The look Sicheng aims at him is accusatory, a little bit defensive. “I’m doing it. No more teasing.”

The foil of the condom wrapper crinkles in Yuta’s grip as he watches Sicheng drizzle lube over his own fingers, then stretch and twist on the bed until he’s comfortable. It makes his mouth go dry, the way Sicheng sighs and arches back as he slips a finger inside himself, works himself open on one, then two, then three. Sicheng moans, wrist working as he twists and curls his fingers, and Yuta can feel his pulse in every part of his body. The pit of his stomach, the base of his throat, the tips of his fingers and behind his eyes. 

He places a tentative hand on Sicheng’s knee, curses when Sicheng’s legs fall open automatically. “Oh my god,” he breathes, inching just a bit closer. “Look at you.”

When Sicheng’s eyes open, lock on his, they’re all pupil, dark and hungry. He bites his lip as he slips his fingers out, slides his hand across the blankets in search of the discarded lube, then hands it to Yuta wordlessly. 

Yuta’s hands are shaking when he takes it from him. 

He tries three times to get the condom wrapper open. His fingers won’t stop trembling, he can’t look away from the long lines of Sicheng’s body, the subtle play of muscle underneath his skin as he stretches and shifts impatiently against the mattress. Finally, Sicheng sits up with a frustrated little huff and takes the condom, rips it open with his teeth like this is a porn video, and rolls it down over Yuta’s cock, the skin of his palm burning hot through the thin barrier. He doesn’t protest when Sicheng takes the lube, too, just crawls over Sicheng with a shudder as he slicks him up, rushed, desperate, ready.

“Enough,” he hisses, batting Sicheng’s hand away when he just keeps stroking him, grip tight and firm and too good. Sicheng just smirks and lets his hand fall to the bed, wipes the lube off on the blanket with a challenging glint in his eye that reminds Yuta of how they used to be, Before. It drives him a little bit crazy. 

He ducks down for another kiss, tugs Sicheng’s mouth open with a hand on his jaw and devours him, pours four years of pent-up longing into one aching, desperate kiss. Sicheng goes boneless underneath him, thighs spread wide around Yuta’s hips, and Yuta lines himself up, pushes Sicheng’s thigh back with one hand, plants the other on the mattress, and pushes in, slow slow slow.

Sicheng goes still underneath him, breath held in his chest as Yuta sinks in so slow his arms begin to burn. He only breathes again once Yuta has bottomed out, hips nestled against him. Yuta doesn’t move for a few long moments, watches Sicheng’s face as he begins to relax and adjust. He doesn’t move until Sicheng drapes one long leg across his hip and scrapes his nails up Yuta’s side, back arching as he demands, “Move. Come on, Yuta, I’m ready. I’m good.”

The noise he punches out of Sicheng when he pulls out and thrusts back in is gorgeous, high and breathy. He tries to go slow, he does, but Sicheng keeps shifting underneath him, thighs flexing against his hips and fingernails dragging against the skin of his back, keeps letting out these soft little gasps, long, shivering moans when Yuta does something particularly good. He bends over to fix his mouth to the side of Sicheng’s neck, scrapes his teeth against his skin until he’s shivering, cock twitching against his belly. Sicheng tosses his head back, moans, “Why have we never done this before.”

“You hated me,” Yuta laughs, sliding one hand around to grip the back of Sicheng’s thigh, hitch it just a little higher so he can change the angle.

“Never,” Sicheng breathes as he stretches his hands toward the headboard, head tossed back, eyes closed in bliss. He’s devastating like this, limned in golden lamplight, long and beautiful and sheened in sweat and marks from Yuta’s mouth.  _ From Yuta’s mouth _ . 

_ I did that _ , he thinks dazedly, staring down at the red marks littering Sicheng’s chest. Working his hips in shallow, rolling thrusts that have Sicheng keening, Yuta ducks down and closes his mouth around one of the marks, nips and sucks at the already reddened skin until the color deepens and spreads, blooms like a flower beneath his ministrations. When he raises his head again, Sicheng cups his cheeks in both hands and curls up off the mattress so he can kiss him, soft and sweet, at odds with the way he’s started rolling his hips to meet Yuta’s thrusts.

“Yuta, I never hated you,” he whispers against Yuta’s mouth, something urgent in his tone.

Reeling, unable to really comprehend what Sicheng is trying to tell him right now, Yuta drops his head so he can rest his forehead against Sicheng’s shoulder, tucks Sicheng’s thigh back against his chest so he can press closer, deeper.

“Yuta, you just -” Sicheng cuts off with a loud moan, a bitten off curse when Yuta thrusts back in, and Yuta funnels all of his concentration into hitting that angle again and again, until Sicheng is shifting restlessly against the sheets, back arched, hands twisting and curling in the blankets as Yuta hits that spot over and over, driving him closer and closer to the edge. His voice is barely more than a gasping whine when he says, “Yuta,  _ please _ , oh.”

Whispering to him, meaningless affirmations and praise, Yuta slips a hand between them, wraps it around Sicheng and works him in a messy counterpoint to his thrusts. Rubs his fingers against the sensitive spot underneath the head, drags the callused pad of his thumb across the tip and smears precome down the shaft for an easier glide. Sicheng’s arms loop around his shoulders and he clings, face buried in the crook of Yuta’s neck, soft noises spilling from his mouth warm against Yuta’s overheated skin.

Yuta feels it everywhere when Sicheng comes. Feels it in the way he tightens around him, dizzying and perfect, in the way Sicheng sinks his teeth into his shoulder, the shuddering rhythm of his breath, the sharp points of fingernails digging into the skin of his back. He strokes Sicheng through it, works him over until Sicheng is whimpering and tugging at his wrist, too much too much.

It doesn’t take much longer for Yuta to follow. A few more thrusts, Sicheng achingly tight around him, mouth fixed to that sensitive spot at the base of his neck and then he’s grinding forward, Sicheng’s name spilling from his mouth as he shakes through his release.

They stay like that, locked together, for a few long, quiet minutes. And then Sicheng sighs, his grip on Yuta’s shoulders loosens, and Yuta eases back, pulls out with a wince and whispers, “Be right back.” He crawls off the bed, awkward, his limbs tense and heavy, then pauses, looks back at where Sicheng is sprawled out, looking delicious and utterly debauched. Yuta’s stomach twists into a knot. He can’t quite believe this is real, doesn’t quite trust Sicheng not to fade into shadow as soon as he looks away. He forces himself to whisper, light and teasing, like his heart hasn’t lodged itself in his throat, “Just. Don’t move.”

He pads to the bathroom to discard of the condom and grab a wet washcloth, returns to find Sicheng in the exact same position. Only his eyes move as he tracks Yuta across the room, only his mouth moves - a soft curl of lips, a slip of tongue as he wets them and eyes Yuta up and down.

Sicheng just lays there, entire body limp and sated, while Yuta cleans him off with gentle swipes of the rag, only complains a little when Yuta wiggles the lube-covered blanket out from underneath him so he can toss it to the floor. Complains loudly when Yuta walks away from the bed so he can fetch another blanket from his closet.

“Come back,” Sicheng whines, face buried in a pillow. 

He peeks up at Yuta from his one visible eye, the amused curve of his mouth just there, auburn hair spread out across the white pillowcase, and Yuta’s heart seizes in his chest.  _ God _ . How had he ever thought he could get over this man?

Shaking his head, Yuta drapes the blanket across Sicheng’s body, then crawls in with him, wraps himself around Sicheng’s back and splays a palm against his stomach. Tipping his chin up so he can nuzzle behind Sicheng’s ear, Yuta murmurs, “Needy.”

Sicheng just hums and leans into Yuta, lets him kiss down the back of his neck and across one shoulder before turning over in his embrace.

Yuta blinks, then settles into a warm smile. Whispers, “You are so beautiful.”

To his delight, Sicheng flushes a delicate pink and tugs a hand out from under the blankets to push Yuta’s face away. “Oh my god,” he giggles. “Shut  _ up _ . You already have me in your bed, you don’t need to flatter me.”

“I’m only being honest,” Yuta mumbles against Sicheng’s palm where it’s still flattened against his face. He’s glad he thought to clean off Sicheng’s hands, too.

They’re quiet for a few minutes as they settle. Sicheng drags the tips of his fingers down the side of Yuta’s face, over the curve of his neck and across his collarbones, eyes focused on the path he traces with unexpected intensity, like he’s trying to memorize everything about this moment.

It goes so quiet, everything soft and fuzzy and warm, drowsy and comfortable, that Yuta startles a little when Sicheng opens his mouth, whispers, “Yuta?”

He hums, nudges his chin down so he can press a kiss to the back of Sicheng’s hand where it’s splayed against his chest.

‘What I was saying before...” Sicheng lifts his gaze to meet Yuta’s eyes, bites his lip while he seems to gather his thoughts. Or maybe his courage. “Did you really think I hated you?”

Yuta hesitates. “It wasn’t... hate is a strong word.”

“Dislike, then. And it wasn’t - you just made me really nervous.”

Yuta jerks back a little, shocked. “Nervous? Me?”

Sicheng huffs, a soft puff of air against Yuta’s chest. “You’re so energetic and bright and beautiful. And you wanted me so much, and I - on New Year’s Eve.” He pauses, stares very intently at a spot at the base of Yuta’s throat. “I wanted that, too. For a really long time.”

Yuta tries to take in what Sicheng is saying, absorb and analyze it. It’s hard. Finally, something niggles at the back of his brain and he asks, slow, unsure, “Sicheng, when I saw you after you got back from China. In the market. Were you... trying to ask me out?”

Sicheng whines, pathetic and embarrassed, and goes to bury his face in Yuta’s chest. Yuta just laughs though, pleased, deliriously happy, and wraps his arms around Sicheng, wraps him up in a tight hug.

“Nooo,” he croons, nosing at Sicheng’s hair. He smells like mousse and sweat and sex, and it should be disgusting, but it just makes something hot curl in the pit of Yuta’s stomach. “I was so surprised to see you, it didn’t even occur to me. And then you were so closed off every time I saw you after, I thought...” he stops, thinks for a moment, then asks, “wait, were you jealous?”

Sicheng suddenly struggles against his grip, wiggling and pushing at his chest. “I’m leaving!” he exclaims. “Let go, I have to go, oh my god, this is so embarrassing -”

His face is flaming red when he finally emerges from Yuta’s grasp and Yuta can’t stop the delighted laugh that bubbles up in his throat. He lets Sicheng wiggle back just a few centimeters before grabbing for him again and tugging him in, chest to chest, arms around his shoulders and their legs tangled together under the blankets. That’s all it takes - Sicheng goes limp and his hand comes up to clutch at Yuta’s side, fingertips digging in so hard Yuta can feel the half moon impressions of his nails.

Leaning in, Yuta presses a kiss to Sicheng’s cheek, drags his lips along the curve of his jaw, whispers into his skin, “I liked you so much I didn’t know what to do with myself. Even after you left, I -” he wrinkles his nose, embarrassed to admit it.

Sicheng is pouting a little when he tips his head back. He asks, “Did you pine?”

“So much,” he murmurs with a self-deprecating little smile. “I was awful, ask Taeyong.”

“Good,” Sicheng mumbles. “Now we’re even.”

Yuta laughs and rolls them over, settles himself on top of Sicheng and props his chin on one palm so he can gaze down at him. “I never knew you were this petty.”

Sicheng shrugs, a teasing little smile on his face as he drags his fingers across Yuta’s shoulders and down his arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I was trying to impress you back then. Did it work?”

Yuta raises an eyebrow, then looks pointedly down at where he’s draped across Sicheng like a human blanket, the two of them sticky and sore and pleasantly fucked out. “I don’t know,” he laughs, leaning in to brush their mouths together, feather-light and teasing. “I think I might need some more convincing.”

“I lied, I do hate you,” Sicheng groans. The exasperated sound rumbles against Yuta’s chest where they’re pressed together, but he loops his arms around Yuta’s neck anyway and tugs him down, nips at his lips until Yuta opens up for him. 

Sicheng’s legs part so Yuta can settle between them, already half-hard as he rolls his hips down against Sicheng’s, suggestive. Sicheng responds by wrapping his legs around his waist and dragging him in, closer closer, sending sparks, little bursts of electricity, a live wire skittering just beneath Yuta’s skin.

Easing back just a bit, just enough so he can look Sicheng in the eye, Yuta whispers, “Hmm, I don’t think you hate me.”

Tossing his head back, Sicheng drags his hands down Yuta’s back to palm his ass, tips his chin up for another kiss. “I don’t know,” he whispers into Yuta’s mouth, sweet like raspberry soju and that fluttering feeling in Yuta’s belly. “I might need some more convincing.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you couldn't tell, everything I know about wedding planning I learned from that one Jennifer Lopez movie, so of course it's all 100% accurate. And bonus points to whoever sussed out the Hot Fuzz reference that I couldn't resist throwing in there.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! ❤️ And thank you so much to the mods for putting this together and running the fest so well, everything was wonderful!
> 
> I am on [twitter](https://twitter.com/idkmybffwangji) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/bigbabyjeno), if you want to say hi!


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